


My Heart Tells Me No

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Angst, Drabbles, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Slow Burn, some time leaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 68
Words: 186,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his wife, newly widowed Ichabod Crane's best friend Abraham Van Brunt is convinced it's time Crane get back into the dating game. It takes much berating, but at last Crane consents to let Abraham set him up.  And in no time, he finds the perfect woman to heal his friends broken, grieving, heart. </p><p>Only, she's getting married at the end of the month.</p><p>The grooms best man is in love with her.</p><p>The photographer has a thing for her.</p><p>She's Ichabod's former best friend and they haven't seen each other in ten years. </p><p>And Abraham might be falling for her himself.</p><p>65-68 are NEW Chapters and this fic is now COMPLETED. FINISHED. FINI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow

The first time he sees her.

Luke Morales: January 2010

Had Luke known the word 'indomitable' he would have used it to describe Grace Abigail Mills. Would have called her stalwart, formidable, and deeply captivating. As luck would have it, Luke did not know these words, and so therefore the only word he had at hand to describe Abbie had been 'stubborn'. Which was all well and good, because those other words, those eloquent well learned impassioned words were meant for a man eight years ago who had whispered them to her against his better judgement. He could not know it then, but it was his simplicity, his lack of flair, that had endeared him to her, even though her affection had been sorely, and grandly hard won. 

The first time he sees her she walks in with her head held high like she already runs the place, like she knows she will one day. Like she knows her worth and competence and would refuse to ever stand down if she was challenged. That very first time, he notices the light dancing in her eyes, even when she tells him not so politely to get out of her way.

"Kick rocks Morales," she says after some relentless ribbing, because at the time, Luke gets his kicks out of seeing how much he can get under her skin. Not ever thinking that one day he might want to touch it, and kiss it, and whisper endearments to the no nonsense small statured force that is embodied in Abbie Mills.

*********

The first time he sees her.

Calvin Riggs: August 2013

There had been a robbery and a murder, and Calvin was on the spot, camera poised, ready to capture the image that would tell the story. Calvin is big on that, he was an artist in his youth, and lived for the complexities of imagery, what was told and what wasn't, based on the angles and the lighting, a million stories could be spun and Calvin knew his calling was to weave them. And eventually he discovered he wanted to narrate real events more than tell of imaginary tales. Wanted to tell of hardships and war and poverty and politics and crime. To cast lives in sharp relief among news print and article, to shed light in dark corners. 

The first time Calvin sees Lieutenant Mills she is strict, to the point and cracks a joke near the end, giving a small, sneaky smile. The sort of smile that tells you, "I might laugh at you, or with you, but either way it'll be glorious' and for a heart stopping moment Calvin fumbled the camera, not enough to drop it, really, but an unprecedented shift in the weight in his hands and it teeters, barely, in her direction as he raises the lens and snaps pictures of the scene, and, by 'accident' captures her in the frame. Onlooking the investigation with her hair caught in the wind and steely eyes. Looking for all the world as if she's standing on the brink of something, the edge of the world, perhaps. And maybe she knows that her duty as an officer of the law is to save it.

 

**********

The first time he sees her.

Andy Brooks: January 2010

He gapes like a fish, he fidgets and averts his eyes when she asks him simple questions. Where's this file, have you looked over those reports. His neck flushes and he can't bare it because well, she's breathtaking. He might be the first one, in eight years, who would have the gall to wax poetic to her, but not with bravery--no, no more so in a stammering, words keep tumbling out of his mouth sort of way, a rambling way that earned him strange looks but then a warm smile as she walked away. He doesn't view her stone facade the same way as his peer, Luke Morales. He sees it as something to walk around and peek into the garden on the other end, while Morales, he knows, wants to demolish it. Smash it to smithereens, be it for his ego or because he's too slow to realize he's utterly entranced by her. Andy sighs, because he knows Luke has enough bravado to face the eye of the storm and make a move, where he does not. Andy Brooks is plagued by a strong case of self preservation. Anything, to avoid humiliation and heartbreak.

**********

The first time he sees her.

Abraham Van Brunt: July 2015

He hears her laugh first. The full rounded joy of it, and he swings in the sound of it, because, joyfulness is attractive, and he's determined to find an attractive, smart, compassionate woman for his dear, dear, dear, best friend Ichabod Crane, whose wife lost a battle to cancer two years prior, has just recently returned to Sleepy Hollow, after many years, and it is time he moved on. Abraham follows the sound around the corner to the starbucks where she is sitting outside in a summer dress, hair down, head thrown back, laughing with another woman.

"Jenny stop!" she laughs, smacking the woman on her arm. The woman gives a devilish grin. 

"You'll be talking about it for centuries," Jenny promises. Abraham takes in the two of them, both handsome women, but it is the smaller one that enraptures him, her warm eyes and joviality, the warmth of her ebony skin. Very unlike the pallor of Crane's first wife, in every way. She is short where the late Katrina had been tall. Muscular and curvaceous where Katrina had been lithe and modestly shaped. Inviting.....where Katrina had held a sort of aloof distance from all she crossed. Always apart. This woman, he could tell liked to be in the thick of things, liked to be involved, to laugh and work hard and enjoy sunny summer afternoons with friends. Yes, Abraham gives a perfunctory nod as he finishes rounding the corner to approach them. She'd be perfect for Ichabod. As he turns the corner, smiling widely, having steeled himself to steam roll through awkward small talk he neglects to take in the ring around her finger. And a few moments later, after engaging in polite conversation and earning their names he turns away, and he fails to hear Jenny confide to her sister.

"Your bachelorette is going to be legendary"

 

*********

The first time he sees her.

Ichabod Crane: September 2001

They collide on the campus of Sleepy Hollow University. Her on her way to class, him on his way from it. Books go sprawling, coffee and lunch among the casualties. It crosses her mind, as she scowls at her spilled beverage to be indignant and haughty and grumpy, because she is not naturally a morning person. Not yet. Not so soon after orientation week when there was cheering and parties and too many late nights. But then she notes his complete surprise, his dropped jaw as he takes in their small bit of chaos and she cracks a smile before rising to her feet and offering him her hand. 

The first time Ichabod Crane sees Abbie, really sees her, it's from something like a bird's eye view as he looks down into her warm smiling face, amusement dancing in her eyes before she bridges the gap of silence with words. "I'm Abbie," she offers, and Ichabod notes the warmth of her hand in his, notes also, the skipped beat of his heart, before he answers.

"Ichabod Crane," he murmurs, his voice low and confidential. If Abbie is affected by his charming drawl she doesn't show it, she merely leans back, taking him in and then asks. 

"So what made you skip the pond to come to Sleepy Hollow U?"

And for a fleeting and ridiculous moment, Ichabod almost replies :You.


	2. Tears, Tea, the years between.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some present day and a little back story and friend/family bonding

Present day: July 2015

"I'm not ready Abraham."

"would you stop whining. One blind date won't kill you,"

"It might," Crane mutters begrudgingly as he lets his friend straighten his collar. "Why I let you talk me into these things I'll never know."

"Because I'm your best friend, and I want what's best for you. And right now if not love, sex would be a good start."

"I am still mourning,"

"It's been two years."

"AND I"M TELLING YOU I"M NOT READY." 

"Well what on EARTH did you move back here for?" Abraham exclaims, exasperated. "You married her, skipped merrily away back home, to Jolly ole England, and now here you are, back on the old proverbial stomping grounds, so to speak, and you have no wish to start over?"

"I was offered a position at the university here, I told you that," Crane adds tersely. "it would have been a foolish offer to refuse. and being an alumni of the institution, I am partial to its hallowed halls."

"You are 'partial' to the past, and I'm not having it. You're not going to waste away here grading papers and reminiscing, you're going to live again, and you start tonight. She's a lovely girl, trust me,"

*************

"Well? how'd it go?"

Crane holds a scrap of cloth. 

Abraham whistles approval. "Old boy, you still have it in you, eh?"

Crane shakes his head. "This is the handkerchief she offered me when I burst into tears," he explains nonchalantly before dropping the pinched fabric, letting it flutter to the floor. 

"Ichabod,"

"Not now Abraham," he can hear the strain in Crane's voice as he marchs down the hall. "Not, now." The slam of the door as final and as aggressive and rude as Crane would allow himself to be, and disheartened, Abraham settles back into the chair, scrubs a hand across his face and then after waiting ten minutes quietly approaches the door. He knocks tentatively.

"Abraham," Crane's voice warns on the other end.

"Ichabod," 

"I beg you to leave me alone. I went on your ill conceived date, made a fool of myself and would like a moments peace."

Sighing, Abraham slides to the floor on his side of the door. "Come on," he says, his head leaning against the door. "Tell me what happened,"

He hears the thunk of Crane performing the same action, and when his head thuds back on the door as well. This is a position they know well, it is not the first time that Abraham and Ichabod have quarrelled, and certainly not the first time they had to reconcile on opposite ends of a firmly shut door. The person pleading forgiveness varied often enough, but it was a pattern that had held since their childhood well into their adult years. And it does not abandon them now. Ichabod waits a beat before he speaks. "All she did was toss her hair," Crane says, his voice quiet and disbelieving. "A toss of her hair and I went to pieces Abraham, it was dreadful and I'll never forgive you for putting me through that, I won't." 

"I was just trying to----"

"Why ever did you think it wise to set me up with a woman with red hair?" he asks, his voice so wounded it strikes Abraham anew with the pain he has inflicted on his best friend tonight. "Did you think the familiarity would make me like her more?" 

"I thought---"

"Stop lying we both know you never, think," Crane snaps, his tone biting. " And, even if it had worked, your poorly wrought idea, what woman prides herself on a comparison to her lover's dead wife? what woman boasts such a daunting thing? Surely you must have known it would mean insult to us both,"

"I was wrong, yes, I, I confess it," Abraham says hurriedly, eager to get over the tedious business of apologies. "Now will you open the door? you can't stay in there, hiding from women with red hair,"

"Watch me," 

"You're being preposterous, you know that? Utterly absurd"

The door cracks, just slightly. He turns his head and sees Crane's blue eye peering out at him. "As if you are ever anything less?"

*********************

Jenny sighs as she gets in, throwing her keys on the table. "Abs?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw the most depressing thing tonight," Jenny explains. 

Abbie comes out from the bedroom, still towel drying her hair. "Dinner with Hawley wasn't good?"

"Oh no, Hawley was fine," Jenny waves her hand dismissively. "I saw a man cry on a date tonight Abbie, it was the saddest thing,"

Abbie snorts. "Getting dumped sucks,"

"No Abbie, no, this was very clearly a first date, they introduced themselves and everything before they sat down. Shook freaking hands"

"Well that's a bad start right there," Abbie replies, rapidly working her fingers through her locks into twists. 

"This from a woman who infamously told the man she's about to marry she'd just as soon as drink arsenic before she went on a date with him,"

"Oh shut up."

"Anyway," Jenny rallies, settling in, putting her feet up on the coffee table for the sheer enjoyment of watching Abbie flummox herself over it, "They sit down, they order, she's barely said a word and I swear Abbie the woman tossed her head and the damn broke. You could have set sail on the sea of tears he unleashed on that woman. I've never seen a dude so quick to cry,"

Abbie frowns at last, turning towards her sister, her brows furrow at the feet propped up on the table but her thoughts are distracted. "You're not kidding are you, it really upset you,"

Jenny shrugs. "It was just….this sad, helpless thing to see. Think of all the horrible feelings you go through just to allow yourself to be talked into a blind date, and then for your date to….fall apart before your eyes. And there's nothing you can do about it. And then imagine being that person, for whatever reason, you let yourself get talked into it, and then you---.well, he was very clearly embarrassed. I was embarrassed for both of them. I mean, how do you prep for that?" her shoulders slump. "It was just an empty thing to see, hope and promise dashed by a simple gesture.Night ruined."

Abbie shudders to remember some of her less enjoyable excursions into the dating world and suddenly feels empathy for the mysterious stranger who blundered his evening. She knows too well how expectations can be turned upside down and flipped sideways and leave you red-eyed and choking on tears, or your heart jack-rabbiting and palms too sweaty.

Abbie knows how to cry helpless hopeless tears.

There's a certain art to it. You see, first, you let your heart get taken hostage. Then stand idly by while they torture and tease it, all the while hoping they'll set it free, but they don't, either because they are cruel or infuriatingly stupid or infallibly kind. And when at last they let it go, when at last you get a reprieve---you mourn the damn restraints, you miss the trial and error path you used to walk, you crave that captivity again because for that one, terrifying, horrifying, defenceless moment, you were sure of something. They'd cared enough to invest so much time in plucking your strings. Even if when done they'd chose another song to play. 

Abbie is well versed in that shocking ice cold feeling of abandonment and loneliness in which your only solace is found in salty tears spilling down your cheeks. "oh well, they'll get over it." she says, shaking herself out and heads to the kitchen to put on a kettle.

Ten years later and she has not yet shaken the habit of three cups of tea per day. She has him to thank for that----but he made her who she is today, even if she is a far cry from the woman she was in her freshman year---and this new woman, the cynic, strong minded one, who is getting married this month damn it---she is NOT going to get herself caught in the unrelenting tidal wave of the past. 

He moved on.

At last, ten freaking years later, so will she.

"Want a cup?" she asks, rifling through the tea bags, pleased that she has amassed a collection of sorts, has developed her own tastes. 

Jenny sighs. "You and your damn tea. Got any blueberry?" as she spies Abbie coming out the kitchen balancing the two tea cups she rolls her eyes. "Of course you do," she teases and Abbie gives her sister a small smile before sitting down opposite her on the couch. 

"We're still on for lunch tomorrow, right? I've got another fitting, and then coffee?"

"Yes yes yes, God, you'd think you were getting married or something."

Abbie jabs her sister in the shoulder. "So," she wheedles, folding her legs underneath her. "Tell me about dinner with Hawley,"

***********************

Crane never re-emerged from behind the door, instead went straight to bed and Abraham heads back out to the front room to fiddle with his guitar. The loft style condo is his, and he is allowing Crane to room with him until he is in a good enough frame of mind (still, still, still, coping with his loss) and properly settled in at his job. 

Back in the year 2000, when Abraham had announced to Ichabod he was going to study music, Ichabod had not been kind enough not to laugh. He knew Abraham to have an ear for music, yes, had a certain penchant for serenading girls with his folky crooner voice during high school, but it had never dawned on Crane that his friend had hoped to make a career out of it. Especially given that Abraham was a very business minded man, or at least had been, Crane had always floundered in mathematics where Abraham whizzed through it--took finance electives and made power points for business plans etc. Had been voted most likely to become a business mogul or CEO of some sort. "I hadn't even known that was a category," Crane had remarked idly as he flipped through their yearbook. 

Crane had been completely blindsided when his best friend had brandished the acceptance letter before him, like an offensive plant, or deadly weapon. Abraham could not know it then but Ichabod had felt betrayed. He had somehow imagined they would go to Sleepy Hollow U together, having heard about it in England and sorely needing a change of scenery, had never considered that Abe would consider himself Robert Frost and take the road less travelled by. The initial shock wore off quickly, and he and Abe continued a lively friendship and correspondence, even though the distance had greatly hampered their ability to visit, and some of the, finer points of their lives. There were friends that neither of them had met, or would ever meet. Parties and memories that couldn't be aptly expressed via text or email. 

And then, once more, as if willfully trying to shock him, Abraham had plotted to take his masters at Sleepy Hollow University, right at the time that Ichabod would be leaving it to head back home, fiancee in tow. 

Once more, Crane had felt mildly affronted. "You could have just taken music there with me to begin with, now I'm leaving is when you decide to come?" he asked, disbelieving.

Abraham had shrugged and had deliberately chosen not to divulge to Ichabod that after years of rigorous close knit friendship, he had needed space.

He hadn't applied to SHU to spite him, truthfully, Crane had made no secret of how lovely the town was and how 'captivating' the campus and quaint the people, and after spending four years in the obliterating hustle and bustle of being a musician on the rise…..well, a little quiet had appealed to him. The fact that he offended Crane, again, in the process, was an…..oddly satisfying feeling. 

Abraham roots around for his sheet music, plucking notes and scribbling words as he composes. With the awkward years behind them, Abraham now runs his own guitar and piano studio, performs gigs on his own, has been commissioned on more than one occasion for choral works. And, once more, in secret, because Crane likes to be over involved…he's working on an album. Because he has honestly always loved singing, even knowing he isn't the best at it. He doesn't want fame and renown for it, no, just, to share his voice. To be heard in a different way. 

If he happens to earn a few attractive fans along the way, well, that wouldn't be so bad.

He works steadily into the night, a musician friend of his just recently handed off a wedding gig to him, and he must contrive to write a song suitable for said wedding at the end of this month. 

*********************

Jenny had spent her 'college years' abroad in Italy, Spain, Portugal, Egypt, Thailand, England---just every damn place that struck her fancy, and somehow in the midst of all that travel, through correspondence and online degrees, she managed to earn herself a rather impressive degree art and extensive knowledge of modern, classic and prehistoric art. She hadn't attended the wild parties at SHU with her sister, and hadn't met many of Abbie's peers. Most of them had left Sleepy Hollow after obtaining their degree, anyway.

Abbie could have left, too. 

And Jenny, she could have stayed away, globe trotting and bed hopping. But she collided with a roguish art dealer while on her travels 'Sir Nicholas Hawley'---though she highly doubted the 'Sir'---- and, remarkably, she decided to come home to Sleepy Hollow ---'What a coincidence!' he'd said. 'I'm from there too!'----and Abbie would suddenly, abruptly, decide to stay in a town that she had once been hopeful to escape.

And others……

Others who had left her sister with a strange, lingering fondness for tea…… 

Others who lingered in the recesses of Abbie's mind though she dare not declare it……..

Other's who no matter how much Jenny pried, Abbie would not discuss them…….

They, would leave.


	3. The First Time II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Abbie met these gents. Her point of view.

The first time she sees him

Luke Morales: January 2010

Abbie knew a cocksure grin when she saw one and Luke Morales seemed to have one permanently pasted across his face. Maybe that's why sparring with him was so fun, she found a perverse delight in shutting him down, professionally and personally. Liked to take him down a peg. Even though she knew he didn't mean any harm----didn't mean that she was going to always play fair. 

She'd played fair once already.

And whether that long 'forgotten' man had known it or not, he had cheated in the game in the worst way, walking away with double his winnings. 

Abbie would berate herself years later for allowing herself to bet her heart. To slide it across the table among the chip piles and cards folded in hands and had trusted him to play fair.

"While I'm young Morales," she drawls as she waited for him to buckle in. They were going on their first ride today, they'd be new partners. She didn't fancy the idea. Neither did he. Which only meant they were going to spend the entire day biting each others heads off. 

Exchanging a wry smile when an insult was particularly impressive. 

"You know, I'd love to meet the gargoyle your mother mated with to make you," Abbie says, through gritted teeth after a barb about her height. Luke regards her with a dropped jaw.

"Ouch, Abbie, low blow. I can't help if I look like I've been carved from stone,"

Abbie shakes her head and gives an exasperated laugh. "Is there such a thing as handcuffs for the mouth? because I would totally make good use of them,"

She pretends she doesn't enjoy hearing him laugh, even if it is at his own expense. 

**************************

The first time she sees him

Calvin Riggs: August 2013

It was in the paper the following day. She scans it quickly, her eyes suddenly glued to a picture she didn't pose for. It's her, looking determined and strong. She smiles to herself, she looks pretty damn impressive. But it's the angling that makes the shot, that moment when the shadows play across the scene just right. His other photos are cold, accurate, truth telling. But the one of her……is oddly heroic. She wonders then if that is what he saw when they met at site the night prior. Some sort of heroine. She hadn't paid much attention to his name or face at the time, but she does now, and out of curiosity she googles his name and old photos of his older galleries and exhibits pop up. Each picture captivating and narrating lives and circumstance. As she scrolls down the page she clicks on the 'about the artist' link. Learns that he studied graphic design as well as animation, but photography was his major. Learns that he once loved taking landscapes, but found photographing people more challenging, more rewarding. Especially if he was able to catch them unawares. He mentions one day putting together a collection of his works. Through a computer screen and through old photos, archived on the web, this is the first time Abbie sees Calvin Riggs. 

**************************

The first time she sees him

Andy Brooks: February 2010

He makes the most awkward inquiry about her social life near valentines day. Something along the line of if she likes chocolates, who knows her favourite kind. That's the first time she makes actual, true, deliberate eye contact with him, and sees him inwardly flinch away from her gaze, as if he knows his secret has been discovered. Every other time that she has interacted with Brooks has been business and inquiries and ride alongs and eyes always on the road, crossing over reports, straining over paperwork and squinting in the dim light of flashlights at a crime scene. 

Never once daylight illuminated, no distractions to speak of. No reason why eyes shouldn't meet. He has introvert eyes, she decides in the moment before he clears his throat and glances away. Dark, introspective, thoughtful eyes. She thinks it's a little odd, his question, and especially the school boy shyness way he has of going about it, but she decides the last thing he needs is for her to laugh outright in his face or stare blankly at him. Instead she replies. 

"I like pretty much anything with almonds." 

She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was, a little, when a small, itsy bitsy box of chocolates appeared on her desk on February 14th. 

************************

The first time she sees him

Ichabod Crane: September 2001

Damn he's tall. She thinks as he whispers his strange name in his British lilt accent. She's not taken in by that, not really. It's his blue eyes and the planes of his face that soften into a smile as he looks down at her. 

"So what made you skip the pond to come to Sleepy Hollow U?"

She sees the moment when a word rushes to his lips and he barely bites it back before giving a slight grin. "A change of scenery, truth be told. What are you studying?"

" Law. Yourself?"

"History,"

Abbie quirks a brow at him. "History? all history? from when the world began?" she teases and sees his face flush.

"Give me a year or two would you to more accurately define my major," he ruffles but his eyes are alight with humour. 

"I've got a free period at 1." She says, why, Heaven only knows. Abbie has never been shy but she doesn't think she's ever been quite this forthright. Quite so sure he would accept, quite so sure she really wanted him to. Need him to.

"As do I," he says warmly. 

"You should probably get to your class," 

"I should," he admits, but doesn't move. It dawns on her then that they haven't released hands from their handshake. They've been standing like this the whole time with her hand locked in his. "I'll see you then?"

Abbie squirms. She had been sure SHE was the one asking HIM to hangout, but somehow he's managed to turn it around on her. "Sure," she smiles brightly, masking all the while the sudden jolt of anxiety that shoots through her, and she swears he feels it, because at last he drops her hand. He gives a small half bow, which is so odd to see in this day and age, smiles once more.

"Until then, Abbie…..?"

"Mills," she calls back to him as she walks away backwards, waving as she goes. "Abbie Mills,"

"Miss Mills," he says quietly, which she almost doesn't hear. No one has ever called her 'Miss Anything'. From then on when Abbie saw Crane she would always see a gentleman.

*********************

The first time she sees him

Abraham Van Brunt: July 2015

She watches as he saunters towards her and Jenny.

All Abbie can think as she looks up at him, making his rapid fire introductions and small chat is: He looks familiar.


	4. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Crane are about to cross paths for the first time in 10 yrs.

Present day: July 2015

Abbie taps her lip with her finger thoughtfully as---Graham?--- walks away. Jenny cranes her neck around to watch him go, when she turns back to the table she wears a wolfish grin. 

"He was eying you," 

Abbie snorts. "Pssht." she wags her bejewelled hand in Jenny's face. "Spoken for, remember?"

"God, you wield that thing like a sword," 

"No I don't!"

"You're right but seeing you get worked up is worth it," Jenny snickers as she reaches for Abbie's cup, draining the last of it. Abbie rolls her eyes. 

"What did he say his name was again? Graham?"

"Abraham," Jenny corrects. "Why?"

"I know him from somewhere. Isn't he familiar to you?"

Jenny smiles wickedly. "If I remembered a face like that, it'd be from seeing it in my bed last night," 

************************

"I've found her!" Abraham declares as he throws the door to the condo open, his arms spread wide in triumph. Ashley---? Angie? Aberdeen? Ab---Abbie! yes! Abbie Mills was the polar opposite of Crane's late wife. There would be absolutely no comparison whatsoever. He continues his exuberant shouting but he is met by silence. "Ichabod?" He peers around, surveying the living room, heads for the kitchen. "Ichabod?" Empty room after room Abraham pauses outside of Crane's bedroom door. He raps it gently with his knuckles. "Ichabod? Icha---" the door swings gently inward, and even knowing that the house is empty, Abraham still checks the hallways before nudging the door open and slipping inside. 

Immaculate. As always. Only signs of chaos are some hurried shelves books and a few papers laying about the desk. Always so damned orderly. Abraham thinks to himself as he edged closer to Crane's mirror. There's a note taped to it. "Always so damned sure," he mutters as he snatches it down.

Crane always used to tease that Abraham was incredibly predictable, even in his recklessness and curiosity there was a certain constancy to it that he would always be able to figure out. Perhaps that was why Abraham had been so pleased that his music career had surprised Crane. Couldn't predict that, could you Ichabod, not so dependable now, am I. 

But here was the evidence yet again, that his best friend knew him better than he knew himself. He unfolds the neat little missive and begins reading:

No doubt, Dear Abraham, that on your jaunt this afternoon, you will have convinced yourself you've found the cure to all my woes. That you could atone for the disaster of last night. And, no doubt, discovering the home empty you have found yourself here, in my room. While I appreciate your…..investment, in my personal affairs, I am not quite ready to endure another blind match. I've gone for a walk. I hope that my absence will give you time to reconsider if not abandon the idea entirely. I know you mean well, Abraham. But humans aren't made of rubber. They don't just 'bounce back'

Abraham sighs, crumples the note, lets himself out of Crane's room and fixes himself a cup of coffee.

*********************

Seasons change. 

Times change.

People invariably do.

But Sleepy Hollow, well, all Ichabod could think of Sleepy Hollow was it had been kind enough not to become completely unfamiliar in the time he had been gone. New coats of paint, sure. A new store here, one that closed. There was a possibility that two more Starbucks locations had been added, but the bones of the place, the landmarks and staples that bore memories both good and ill. Those still stand. Inhaling deep breaths of fresh air he marches briskly into the book shop---this particular one is new---and it's unlike book shops he's seen before. This one is something of a department store. There are books, yes, oodles of them. But there are also house wares and accessories, and all manner of things that he could do without tainting the atmosphere of literature. Although the layout is aesthetically pleasing, he acknowledges, and the wares are nice---and he has always been partial to plaid scarves---but nonetheless he veers towards the history section in the back corner. Sighing contentedly as he gazes upon the names of familiar historians and academics. One or two helpful clerks pass by, bright smiles that may or may not be forced, asking how they might help, informing him of some sale or another, and he kindly waves them off as he pulls book after book off the shelves. He's heard very good things about Guns Germs and Steel, and 14 Carnations, one of the clerks had mentioned, had practically been walking out the store door, it was that popular. He adds those to his considerably growing pile, teeters over to a shopping basket with his load and deposits them in it, feeling accomplished, he strikes off toward the cash line.

*******************

Abbie parted with his her sister after coffee. The fitting had gone well, the silhouette was a sleek lace number, with an elegant lace edged veil, she'd look beautiful in it, she had been assured. In spite of her hard exterior, Abbie had admired the ball gown styles and A-line styles. But princesses and charm and fairytales resided with memories of a particular character, who shall remain nameless---she reminds herself, and as a new woman, a new, confident, sure woman, she puts away childish things. She's here for a moment to herself. Pick up some fiction, as well as a guestbook for the wedding. Better she start that search now so she has time to order one if need be. 

Abbie has been to this store a number of times by now. Some of the staff know her by name. She takes her time, listens to their recommendations, picks up a couple of fantasy novels , and one mystery. And success, she does indeed find a guestbook, although as she flips through it, discovers it's blank, painfully ordinary pages, she decides to find a nice interesting looking large blank journal instead. She'd write in the header of date and name herself. That was really the only difference. And, a glinting thing catches her eye on the way to the checkout, she glimpses a pen with a false diamond affixed to the end to it. It's silly, she knows. But it's pretty, and she is a bride to be…..she decides to treat herself to the stupid thing. Smiling to herself, she gets in line. 

********************

Even though the summer is still young, a charmingly lady in the accessories department convinced him how dashing he looked in a navy plaid scarf. He is self conscious about the purchase, peering around to see if anyone notices that in a place that sells books he has bought a garment, but all around people are buying unexpected things that they've found in the store, one woman two cashiers down is buying decorative pillows along with her bestsellers. The world has changed, he muses to himself as he gets rung through. 

"There you go! Thanks for shopping with us! Have a good day!" the cashier chimes and Crane along with four other customers are simultaneously released from the line and begin their venture to the front door, laden with their purchases. One figure moves swiftly ahead of him, rummaging through her bags and then unexpectedly bolts back around. 

"Excuse me you forgot to give me my---" 

They collide in the doorway of the bookstore. Both of them on their way out the same door. Books go sprawling, scarves and pens among the casualties. The ring that she warned her fiancee was a size too big goes flying off in some haphazard direction, pinging against a window, a wall, before rattling out of sight. It crosses his mind, as he frowns at his scarf and the wrinkles it's going to have, the spine off the book that he's sure now is broken, to be irritated and ill mannered, because he has been trying for a while to be proper, controlled, contained, and he lost that control and his sense of dignity last night at the horrible dinner date, and he's furious about the spectacle he is now, long limbs sprawled on the floor, blinking in dazed disbelief. The woman moves first, moving to retrieve her things. Her hands are light and quick, expertly reaching and snatching and stuffing her items back in her bags. "Sorry," she mutters, her voice mildly amused and embarrassed about the situation, her eyes still scanning the floor as she hands him his own purchases. Crane remains still. 

He is sure he's imagining things.

That or maybe he didn't just fall, but has hit his head. Hard. 

One of the cashiers dash over. "I forgot to give you your receipt! oh! are you two okay?" she asks, bending down to help them up. The woman waves her off, laughing lightly.

"I'm fine, I was just in a hurry, not your fault." And as she rises to her feet, as she turns to offer Ichabod her hand, she stops dead. Her eyes widen and her chest fills with fluttering things, birds maybe, needing to take flight. Battering their wings frantically at the constraints that is her heart and ribcage, just barely keeping these nerves contained. Her hand hangs in midair and then drops back to her side. Her mouth slightly open. 

Swallowing, he slowly rises to his feet, grasps the handle of his bag that she had so neatly before just stuffed back in order, and standing tall, looks down into the depths that were once so familiar to him. 

"Miss Mills?" he asks.

Abbie does the one thing she knows she should have done the first time so long ago. 

She runs.


	5. Run All You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can run, but only for so long.
> 
> This chapter starts with a flash back to the first year Abbie and Crane met, some present day, more past, you know the drill ;)

September 2001

It's 1 o'clock when Abbie realizes that her and Crane never agreed on someplace to meet. Stupidly, she decides to head towards the lecture hall they had met at earlier that morning, she meanders in the hall as students mill around, craning her neck to catch a sight of him. Because surely, someone that tall can't go entirely unnoticed. It's 1:15 when she wagers that he's either not coming or he's entirely forgotten. She pulls her hair up into a pony tail, sighs, cracks her neck, hefts her bag and makes for the door, nimbly bounding down the steps and there he is at the foot of them. He's turned away from her, perhaps expecting her to come over the hill or from one of the neighbouring buildings. Something like relief washes over her and she calls out. "Hey! Over here!"

Instantly recognizing her voice he turns and catching sight of her, smiles. Ascending the steps to meet her halfway. "I worried you'd forgotten, it was only after you had departed I realized that we hadn't agreed on a meeting place,"

"Yeah," Abbie laughs. "I noticed that too. But at least we thought of the same place," she says, skipping down the steps ahead of him.

"Very fortuitous,"

Abbie wrinkles her nose as she looks over her shoulder at him. "Do you always talk like that?"

Crane regards her, clearly perplexed. "What's wrong with the way I talk?"

Absolutely nothing, she would discover later. The way eloquent speech flowed from him was as natural as air and Abbie would soon come to realize she needed that air to breathe. 

*********************

She runs. 

Her bag swinging, her feet leaping, if she wasn't wearing a dress people would probably think she's chasing down a perp the way she's bolting through the streets but she doesn't care because there is no way in hell that the minute she's about to walk out of her past for good, HE manages to come storming back into her life. She won't have it. 

But Crane had always been a stubborn man, and he doesn't let up on his pursuit. She can hear him behind her, barely putting in an effort with his long legs covering twice the span of her strides, and him bellowing, ever so politely---has he ever not been polite?----- "Miss Mills! Miss Mills! Wait! Please!"

She hangs a sharp left down an alley, and cursing when she sees the chain link fence at the end of the narrow street. She grips the bag of things she bought in her teeth and hauls herself nimbly over the fence at the end of the alley, somehow managing not to tear her dress as she lands solidly on her feet on the other end and she keeps moving, doesn't look back. She's back on the main road, and, from what she can see and hear, she's managed to lose him, for now. Until she hears a rattling sound coming from the direction she's just left. No. Abbie weaves past civilians. No, she assures herself. No way did he scale that damn fence. Abbie has almost convinced herself of the impossibility of it when she hears him hollering behind her again. She chances a glimpse over her shoulder and catches him peering down the street in the opposite direction and she hurries a little, brushing stray strands of hair out of her face when---

"Damnit," Abbie's gaze lands on her unadorned left hand. Frustrated and frantic she whirls around, checking the pavement for her engagement ring. All manner of panic and stupid superstition flitting through her brain. Bad omens and carelessness, and a sinking suspicion that when it comes to matters of the heart, Abbie might very well be cursed. 

In her distracted search, her feet start carrying her back the way she came, stopping mere paces from the back of Ichabod meandering along the road, turning this way and that, trying to catch sight of her. 

She wants to demand what the hell is he doing back in Sleepy Hollow. Why didn't he have the good manners to remember that she wouldn't want to see him again. That he shouldn't have chased her. She ducks under the eve of a bakery when he swings around, escaping his gaze but Abbie's mind is whirring furiously. Where the hell did she lose that ring? She's told him it felt loose, but crap. Her heart feels hollow. She counts to ten, sure that by now Crane will have given up looking and she steps back out on the street when the Heaven's open up and unleash a torrent of rain.

"You've got to be kidding me," She shouts in aggravated shock as the cold rain water soaks her through. "There wasn't even rain in the forecast" she grumbles as she darts  
through the streets, at last hailing a cab. She gratefully throws first her bag in and then her soggy self. Buckles in, gives the driver her address and he pulls out into traffic but she frowns when he says, "Already headed that way, perfect"

"What?" Abbie asks.

The taxi driver locks eyes with her in the mirror, grinning as if this is the most charming coincidence to happen all day. "You're both headed in the same direction," he nods to her left and common sense barely stops Abbie from leaping out of the moving vehicle. 

He is sitting next to her, drenched from head to toe.

Ichabod Crane. 

***********************  
October 2001

They went to a Halloween party as a pirate king and queen. Purely platonic. 

November 2001

Midterm season drove them both into states of isolation, and the passing of the arduous tests was like dawn breaking for the first time. When they haphazardly crossed paths at the community centre on campus, Abbie had had to shield her eyes from the sunlight and squint to see him coming in the distance, waving at her with two coffees in hand.

"Hey stranger! how did midterms treat you?"

"I faired well, you?" he asks handing off a cup to her. She accepts it gladly, takes a good swig and then glances up at him. 

"How'd you know to grab this for me anyway? we haven't spoken in weeks, you couldn't have known I'd be here,"

He nods, his hair is up in a pony tail today and he shifts his bag and adjusts his scarf. "I made an inquiry to one of your peers when they had seen you last." he looks down at her out the side of eye and smirks. "You are easily found if one determines to do so,"

Abbie doesn't think about what it means that he had been 'determined' to find her.

December 2001

He was always complaining about the cold. Two pairs of socks and thick boots and a scarf that wound around his neck thrice and he was still always claiming to have a chill. Hot chocolate and steaming bowls of soup later---prepared at his residence where he lived in a suite style unit with only one roommate----he complained of ice seeping into his bones and winter winds whispering through his hair. 

"You had winters back in England," Abbie snaps when his whining has reached a fever pitch. "I'm sure they were worse"

"Damper. Not so much snow. Not so dry, my lips are always chapped." 

"Oh for crying out loud," she reaches for her chap stick in her bag and forces it into his hand when he starts his grumbling about hygiene and propriety----and she keeps meaning to ask him where he took his 'old world charm class'----and how he doesn't want to 'impinge upon her belongings----when finally thoroughly exasperated she leaps up, grabs his collar and glides the stick across his lips herself. 

He blinks at her in surprise, then smacks his lips together and his eyebrows shoot up. "Strawberry?"

Rolling her eyes she replies, "Watermelon,"

"So your lips taste like watermelon?" he asks in that bewilderingly innocent way he has. That tone that you can never quite guess whether it's flirtatious teasing or mere wide eyed curiosity. 

"I guess," she shrugs, walking ahead of him, sometimes in order to turn his chatter off you just needed to walk away from it, but he continues.

"So, in a word my lips now taste like yours," there's a slow prodding to the question that she can't make sense of. 

"Come on!" she sighs. "You MUST have used chap stick before,"

"True," he muses, his mouth curling into that self satisfied smirk he gives when he feels he's trapped someone in a way to his liking. She knows then that he's been setting up this conversation to go a certain way and she's walked into it. "But it's never been, Abbie, flavoured." 

January 2002

They stand awkwardly near each other when the clock chimes twelve, neither seeking kissing partners nor sharing in one together. 

February 2002

Abbie has never met a man with such a robust sweet tooth. She watches in amazement as he picks up box after box after bar after bar at the grocery, drug store and bakery the day after Valentines when all of the chocolates and heart shaped confections goes on sale. They set up a movie marathon and Abbie curls up on her end of the couch, him opposite, Crane's roommate has gone home for the weekend. She goes through a bag of popcorn and a bowl of ice cream all by herself while Crane steadily munches on his snacks when suddenly a heart shaped chocolate appears under her nose. 

"What's that?" she asks warily. Abbie dislikes filled chocolates, cream filled and caramel, toffee, always gunked up her teeth. 

"Just open up," Crane implores gently. She opens her mouth slightly and he pops it in. She bites down tentatively, prepared to spit it out when her teeth make a satisfying crunch. 

"Mmm!" 

"See?" Crane plunks a box in her lap. "It's all almonds! no gooey centres and no over sweet fillings" 

Abbie regards the box of chocolates in her lap like an alien thing. "You got this for me?" she asks.

Crane produces four more boxes. "These too," 

Abbie doesn't like sweets half as much as Crane does, so they last her till nearly the end of the month. But she's had a peculiar fondness for chocolate and almonds, in that exact combination, ever since. 

March 2002

Hours spent studying their separate subjects till unholy hours in the Library.

April 2002

Exams conquered they sit on the steps of the building they met at in the beginning of the year, wiping beading sweat off their brows. They've just finished a run. Crane joined a club a couple of weeks ago and all but begged Abbie to join with him---she wouldn't, it had conflicted with her choir elective----but she agreed to run with him once a week. It was good for both of them. They discuss their summer plans. He's going back home. She's staying here. Both a little disappointed of the months ahead without each other. But Abbie, the optimist stretches and rises off the step. "Well, so long as you're back in september," she jokes, "I'm sure I can survive a couple of months,"

Ichabod stands with her, squeezes her hand lightly. "Of course I'll come back. I'll always come back,"

***********************************  
July 2015

Abbie stares at him across the seat from her. His dripping wet hair in his too blue eyes. The beard that tickles----she doesn't want to remember why she knows that. The long tapered fingers that clench nervously in his lap. Abbie looks away, directing her gaze out the window. The storm has thrown all drivers for a loop, traffic doesn't crawl, but it doesn't move fast enough to get out of this damn car. And yet still not slow enough for her to leap out of it safely. She feels the moment his heated gaze slides away from her, no longer burning a whole in the side of her head and she focuses on breathing. One of them will get out of the car first. One of them will have to. As long as no words are said, they'll both come through this unscathed. 

Abbie restrains herself from heaving a sigh of relief when the taxi turns onto her street. "Here is fine," she says, shoving two twenties at the driver, grasping her bag and the door handle when an arm lashes out across her, pulling the door firmly shut and hitting the lock. 

"Take a lap," Crane says, his voice low and calm. The taxi's gaze flicks up to meet Abbie's but she is in shock, she looks down at Crane's arm, his clenched white knuckles around the handle of her door, efficiently barricading her in. "Take a lap, I said. And keep going until I say. You can run your meter, I'll pay," Crane insists and just like that the taxi shrugs and pulls off, cruising easily away from her destination. 

I am beyond this. Abbie thinks, irritated. Her mind knows it, she is more than capable of overpowering Crane. Of overpowering any man that should dare step in her way. Then why hasn't she moved? Why doesn't she throw Crane's arm out of the way and throw herself from the vehicle? She is not a delicate flower. Abbie has taken more falls and hits in the last couple of years than she cares to remember. Some scars that she can't even remember how she earned them. Her body however is uncooperative, and she remains still, shrinking away from him, she'd melt into the cars seating if she could. 

"Miss. Mills." he says. Abbie barks out a laugh, chances a glance at him and then looks away.

"Screw you, Crane," she snaps, dashing traitorous tears from her eyes. "Screw you," 

Because it's not fair. 

The man who left.

After all this time, he's come back.


	6. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up with that face off in the taxi,
> 
> HOWEVER
> 
> lest we forget, this story is also about the other men in Abbie's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kinda long, so the next one will be a little shorter, but that means a quicker update, so....yay?
> 
> Thank you for the AMAZING response I've had to this story so far.

There's a horrifying moment, with the sound of rain running down and the windshield wipers going 'swish swish, swish swish,' where the air is so tense between the two of them in the back seat, neiither one can discern what will happen if they spark. 

A terrifying moment in which Abbie thinks Crane might kiss her.

A frightening moment in which Crane thinks he might kiss her. 

Thunder crashes overhead. Foreboding. Like impending doom. He watches the water from her hair, and some of it stray tears wandering down the side of her face. Her eyes alight confounding whirlwind emotions. 

But the truly hair raising thing, the deeply bone chilling fearful part of this moment is, if it happens, should this electric charge betray them both and they fall into an embrace, they won't be able to stop. 

And they are here because there was a moment when they should have, but didn't. 

****************************

Andy Brooks: 2010-2015

There have been brief moments in time in which she may or may not have been seeing Andy. She isn't sure because Andy has never sure about defining whether or not they were on a date. They just 'happened' to be going for break at the same time. 

He just 'happened' to ask if she was free after a shift, and they would just 'happen' to walk into a diner. Once, they just happened to walk into an actual restaurant. Wearing civilian clothes. Nice-ish, civilian clothes. He'd worn a collared shirt with nice shoes. Abbie had agonized in the mirror trying to find an outfit that screamed casual dinner 'totally not leading anyone on,' 

The first happenstance dinner they had together she was surprised that Andy was funnier than she had expected him to be. He had a light easy humour, not at anyone's expense, some might even say it was a bit hokey---but it suited him. The way his smile took up half his way and the lines that crinkled around his eyes made you enjoy the joke maybe twice as much as it deserved. 

Their 'hangouts' became somewhat more regular. She was getting comfortable with him, she admits to herself as they smile over a drink. 

As they smile over dinner.

A snicker about an inside joke when he walks by her desk.

When Abbie looks back on it now, she wishes Andy had been more sure. Even now, if he was bold enough, if he got up the courage to demand that he had a right by her side-----

They could have had something.

But she couldn't know that Andy was petrified of the possibility of getting hurt. Maybe if she had ever once confided in him, he'd know you could still stand after heartache. 

******************************  
Calving Riggs: August 2013

Abbie calls him the next day. Tells him he did a good job on that article.

"We can talk about it more over drinks," he suggests calmly.

It's as if they've rehearsed it. He knows his line, she knows hers. "Eight o'clock?"

They get together for drinks the same time every week, and throughout September to January, they see each other upwards of four times a week. Some of those times they dance or see indie films. He used to photograph her, and he still has those shots to this day. 

He's always threatening to put up that exhibit. 

"I'll call it, 'Abbie, Edge of the World'" He teases as he nuzzles her neck, hands on her waist as he waltz's her backwards to their destination point. Where nights end and mornings break and limbs detangle from the other to go about their business. 

In January he decides to embark on a documentary project with an old school mate of his. It's the first time he'll be doing film in years, but he'll also take pictures and set up a gallery to follow along with the short film. It means leaving Sleepy Hollow. Leaving the United States. 

"I could never ask you to wait that long for me," he whispers as his lips brush hers. 

Abbie nods her understanding. She wouldn't have waited anyway. Waiting has never served her. She places a hand on his cheek.

"We'll see what happens when you get back," 

*******************************  
Luke Morales: April 2014

This time of year always puts Abbie in a reflective, sombre mood, for reasons she doesn't consciously acknowledge, but Luke sees the grim set of her jaw as she fills out paperwork. 

"Hey Mills," he says.

Abbie ignores him, finishing off one sheet and exchanging it for another. 

"Mills," he insists. 

Her pen explodes and she curses, pushing back from the chair, leaping from behind her desk, hands held out away from her as if it's blood on her hands and not ink. She starts storming off towards the restroom when a hand lands on her shoulder and she whips around, frustrated, ready to blaze whoever it is but he's grabbed both of her ink stained hands in his. 

"Abbie?" he asks quietly. "Are you alright? you seemed…..like something was bothering you back there,"

He might be the first person in years to realize that Grace Abigail Mills isn't always as alright as she pretends to be. 

The tenderness in his voice is like he's holding a knife to her throat. If he presses her, he'll cut deep and everything inside will come spilling out like the unruly, ungoverned, unresolved hurt thing it is. But he doesn't, and she's grateful, later, a little resentful, because he'd been too much of a coward to try and find out how ugly and reckless she could really be. But her first thought is gratefulness that he lets her lie to him. That he pretends to believe for her sake when she says "I just got up on the wrong side of the bed Morales," she rests a hand across his face, delights in the shock that flits through his eyes, and then the dawning realization that Abbie has just left a blue hand print on his visage.

"Mills!" he hisses accusingly as he releases her, but he smiles at her anyway. For a moment the veil lifts and the Abbie he knows, his Abbie shines through----but wait. 

That's the first time Luke Morales realizes that she's 'his Abbie' in his head. The following unsettling thought is that he'd like that to be true in real life. 

********************************  
Ichabod Crane: Summer 2002

They wrote. Like, old fashioned pen to paper wrote. He sent the first missive and therefore set the precedent. So there Abbie was, putting pen to paper like some medieval peasant and picking up postage stamps in a day and age when they could literally send one another like what-----ten emails per day? But she doesn't argue, because she likes the way her writing looks on paper, It's still nice now. Not a hurried policewoman scrawl. It's slanted and loopy, all curlicues and gliding angles, it looks lovely, and she thinks, while she sips a cup of tea made from the three boxes he sent her in June, that hand written letters are indeed a lost art. She's glad he's determined to revive it, that they're carrying this on together. 

Their way of being together when apart.

September 2002

Ichabod came back to SHU, as promised, and everything was more less, business as usual.

Abbie never pursued her peers, nor entertained their pursuits of her. She had Crane. Undefined, always there, Crane. As far as she knew, he wasn't seeing anyone either. Their friendship, overly close and tending towards affectionate as it may be, was enough to balance with their heavy course loads.

After all they came to University to write their futures, not happy endings. 

December 2002

They are curled up together on the couch, Abbie with a mug of hot chocolate, Crane with a recently beheaded gingerbread man in his hand as they watch one of many adaptions of 'A Christmas carol', chattering in between. This the first time he briefly mentions someone named Katrina. It's so fleeting and brief, insignificant in their cozy holiday bubble. 

She falls asleep on his shoulder.

January 2003

A peck as the clock strikes, on the cheek. Two gentle smiles and loosely entwined fingers as they sit on a rooftop, watching the fireworks. 

Summer 2003

He stays in town a month longer than he needs to after exams. They go on a road trip with their mutual friends. There's an album chockfull of pictures to show for it. Canyons and sunsets and campfires and marshmallow stuck in his beard. Shanty songs that he liked to sing at ungodly hours of night, to the annoyance of their company and Abbie's amusement.

When the day comes to board the plane, she says bye to him at his apartment, a hug that's tighter than necessary. A grip that shouldn't be this strong. It's dangerously strong, it's grasping, protective, claiming. "You stay safe," she scolds him.

"I promise to come back in tact," he smiles, bends down to peck her forehead, before folding himself up in his taxi and driving away. 

September 2003

"Crane!" she exclaims when she sees him at the airport. Abbie has been waiting here for going on three hours. Panic lodged itself in her throat exactly five minutes after she realized he hadn't gotten off the flight he should have. 

"Abbie!" he drops his bags and goes charging for her, she runs at him full force and he catches her up in his arms, swinging around, laughing, excited. 

"What kept you?" She laughs into his collar. His hand pets her hair. 

"Flight delay treasure, forgive me,"

It's a new nickname that catches them both unawares. There's a pause. They let it ring there between them, waiting for it to strike a new chord. To signify that their relationship will now become a new song. She unlatches her arms from around his neck and he drops her quickly, standing back and apart. Remembering whatever lessons he was so well schooled in on decorum and manners. She helps him with his bags and she gets him settled in at his new digs. A townhouse he's sharing with some grad students. He's got no more tolerance for living with randy jocks and and over enthusiastic science majors. He has a very vivid remember of being shaken awake by something one of them exploded in the living room last year.

Abbie had offered that he could stay in the guest room at her house for the year, rent free----Jenny was still away----but the suggestion had scandalized him. She chucks his things in the back of the taxi and scoots in beside him, ignores the way he casually swings her legs up in his lap. 

Things between her and Crane have always been fluid, changeable, evolving without any declaration acknowledging the change. It seemed a waste of time to point out small things like this. It's not uncomfortable. It's as easy as breathing. They've never played by traditional boundaries and rules. 

It only makes sense they'd continue to break them.

November 2003

They go to karaoke for the first time. Abbie sings solo. Crane listens, in slack jawed awe. Abbie had joined a choir on campus, and he'd been to the concerts, numerous times. Yet he's never heard her sing alone, so soulful and carefree. He might never hear music the same way again.

December 2003

He doesn't realize it but it's been exactly a year since he's mentioned Katrina to Abbie. Her name comes up again, in passing. It catches in Abbie's ear this time though. She sits up and turns to him. "She your girlfriend or something?" she asks with a sly grin, because the idea of Crane dating to her is almost laughable, but cute. She's mildly impressed that he's managed to keep it a secret from her so long. If not simultaneously furious. They are best friends after all. It has never occurred to her that her friendship with him is strange. That the label they use is incorrect. That, if either of them had a mind to date---which Crane apparently had----that their relationship would be, or could be a point of contention. Abbie simply has never thought of that. She's only twenty years old at this point, she's still carefree and hopeful about making a difference in the world. She has known true grief only once in her life---the loss of her mother---but that hasn't complicated her view of the world or life in any way. 

The fact that Crane is wary about divulging this detail is strange to her because……it's not like they're dating or anything. 

They're something, she acknowledges, they have something----but it's not that. 

January 2004

She was too sick to go out for New Years, Crane stayed home. A week later he shows up at her house and pecks her on the mouth by way of greeting. "Happy New Year," he whispers. 

Abbie smiles. "Happy New Year Crane,"

March 2004

Crane uncharacteristically caught the very first flight out to head back home. 

Two weeks later Abbie opens a letter. It's the briefest missive he's ever written, and yet it takes her a moment to process the words. 

Come visit? followed by an address. 

There is a ticket enclosed in the envelope.

Summer 2004

Abbie is the one stepping off a plane. Searching for a familiar face, when she hears him yell for her and then leaps towards her. The hug he catches her in is too light, arms too lose, to 'friendly' for what they are. 

She's there at the house with his family and friends, having an amazing time. Three days in a woman shows up at the door. Abbie answers. They regard each other with looks of recognition and surprise.

"You must be Abbie," the woman takes her hand in her own and clasps it. "I'm Katrina,"

The whole visit she is only ever "Miss Mills"

January 2005

Crane and Katrina break if off, due to the distance.

February 2005

Mistake night.

Some one of them did remarkably well on some project/presentation/exam neither remember anymore---but they had deemed it cause to celebrate.

They drank. They went to karaoke. They danced. Ate. Drank.

Staggered into Abbie's place intending to have some tea or coffee and sober up. Somewhere between the kettle and the teacup Crane's hand intercepts hers to waltz around the room. They're limbs are liquid from drink and their tongues too loose.

"Do you still use that chap stick?" he asks randomly.

Abbie hiccups and snickers. "Why?"

"I wondered if your lips still taste like watermelon," he replies in a drunken conspiratorial whisper. They both burst into a giggling fit and stumble into the couch, Abbie lands on top. There's a moment where they both look at each other and consider the possibility that now, now might be the shift. Now might be when things change, but instead they grin dumbly at one another and fall asleep.

It's the morning that does them in.

It's the moment when Abbie jolts awake to the sound of Ichabod's heartbeat beneath her ear. She startles, remembers where she is, chuckles to herself and drifts back to sleep.

It's when Crane shivers awake from the feeling of Abbie's breath ghosting across his chest. He blinks, disoriented, confused, until he looks down at her, folded in his arms, lets sleep claim him again.

When the sun shines through the window their eyes open at the same time. They are young, foolish, stupid, irresponsible. But.

They are Abbie and Crane. 

This doesn't change anything for her, she says as much when she straddles him, runs her fingers through his hair, and asks "Do you still love her?"

"Yes," he replies brokenly, his treacherous hands cupping Abbie's face.

"Would you go back to her now? given the chance?" her lips hover before his. 

"Yes."

Another woman might have leapt from him then. However Abbie knows life is short----the sudden passing of her mother is evidence of that.

********************************

Abbie Mills: 2001

Abbie and Jenny's mother was killed in the year 2001, tragic car accident, struck by a corporate truck. There was a lawsuit. A huge settlement. Piles of money dumped in their laps to pay for their mother's funeral, hopefully enough to buy a respite from their grief. 

There wasn't enough money in the world.

Abbie was set to spiral out of control, to be reckless in her grief. To mourn day in day out. Jenny had left so fast her head had spun. She'd done questionable things that first week at SHU when everything was party to oblivion before she attempted, with a heavy heart, to buckle down, to still endeavour to make her mother proud, even in the afterlife. 

It had become easier after she met Crane. To be safe. To be focused. To exist. A welcome distraction, who then became a fixed point.

********************************

February 2005

So Abbie is feeling well and truly reckless for the first time since her mother passed, and the safest place to be that way, is here right now, under her own roof, her mother's roof, with the man she's known for four years. Here is the time to be out of control. She chooses now. She chooses him. She explains this to him. Lays it out for what it is. Crane understands her, but he questions himself when their lips meet. 

Abbie felt warm comfort. 

Crane felt fire.

When her hands glide over him, it's like tracing a map she already knows.

For Crane, everything, everywhere she touches sets him alight. His heart rears up in sudden confusion. He kisses her fiercely, because he needs her to know, he needs her to feel---'this DOES change something' he begs as they move, as she sighs, as he runs his lips over her skin. 'This changes EVERYTHING' he wants to scream.

We will never be the same.


	7. Together II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the breaking point.
> 
> This is where I take a sledge hammer to all our dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned this would be a quick chapter.
> 
> You might be angry after this one. I request you be patient with me.

February 2005

His passion surprised her. The burning hungry kisses and the way he went about exploring and touching her, as if wanting to devour her whole. For a second the word 'forever' scurries through her brain, but then the pure bliss obliterates the thought. 

He keeps his mouth on hers long after, softly repetitive. His hands tangle in her hair, he clutches her tighter as if he wants them to meld. 

Kisses along her spine, behind her ear, pinning her to the mattress his eyes have never been this blue. 

What's one more time between friends? she wonders before they set out on that fiery road again. 

He keeps whispering in her ear after the second time, when she is boneless in his arms, so close and yet so far away. He keeps murmuring desperately his pleas for help. My heart is conflicted. He says. I have been yours all this time and didn't know it, but I love her too. Have loved her for years and I never should have kept her from you. But if you would open your eyes now and return it, if you would let yourself fall off that ledge we'll plummet together----but she sleeps on, nestled into him like a cocoon. 

March 2005

He can't keep on like this, the thought lances through him. He cannot be a man with his heart divided in two. He knows he's made a mess of things----but Abbie doesn't want to alter who they are. It never happens again. And until one morning, late in the month, when Abbie corners him outside the library, they never spoke of it again either.

Abbie couldn't have known, and Crane doesn't have a chance to tell her, until after their chat, that Katrina turned up on his step last night---they've decided to try again. 

"If she flew all the way over here, it means she loves you." Abbie smiles, even though some part of her knows, with the suspicion she has about herself, that this complicates things. 

But they are Abbie and Crane.

Surely they can face anything.

April 2005.

Her body has felt strange ever since. She told Crane that morning she was seeing a doctor. "Alright, I'll see you tonight,"

He's a coward. He knows it. Maybe it's not what she thinks. 

He proposed to Katrina, and told Abbie about it that night.

"Crane," she says, with an edge of warning in her tone. It's serious, it's a knife edge, something has changed, something has been confirmed and he CANNOT let her finish her thought. Unsaid is unknown. 

"Abbie," he says softly, presses his mouth to hers. "I leave tomorrow,"

"Congratulations," 

***************************

July 2015

"Abbie,"

she throws a hand up between them, the other covers her mouth. "No."

"Abbie please," he scoots closer, takes her hands in his. Her skin crawls, her stomach threatens to revolt against her. 

"You promised."

"I didn't have a choice,"

"Yes you did. You could have taken the hard road, we'd have figured it out. All three of us, somehow, we could have."

"You don't understand."

"Please enlighten me,"

"That tone will get us no where Abbie----"

"I miscarried that day." she says coldly. Her eyes are hurt and angry. "And you left the country to get married the next,"


	8. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie finally gives voice to her pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rough patch won't last forever. hang in there with me, this story will get better. It just takes time to sort out emotional muck. :)

April 2005

It's a strong heart and iron will that enables Abbie to throw her arms around him, pulling him close. "Congratulations" she murmurs, meaning it, but also begging him, needing him to look her eyes. Needing him to see that she's saying it as much for his engagement as for herself. 

Please, she thinks. Please see that you and I have something to celebrate too. We're about to have something that's never been between us before. His eyes lock with hers and she knows he must see it---there is too much hope in her eyes to be hurt by his news. He knows there is something she's happy about, that it will alter their course forever, and holds her tight. 

Don't make me say it, she despairs when he says nothing else but folds her in his arms. Don't make me announce it, you know what it is, what this means, don't make me steal your thunder and give you burdens. Don't make me a trap. She thinks helplessly when she at last comes to grips with the fact that he isn't going to ask about her appointment earlier that day. 

That he knew why she'd gone, would get results, would have confirmation of their future---but he doesn't ask.

"Stay in touch," she says, gripping his collar. 

"Of course," he vows, coaxing her head back to his chest. "I will," between the incessant hair petting and kissing of her crown, his arms continue to tighten and lock her in. The strength of this embrace should be encouraging, but it's the desperation of it. The feeling that he is memorizing the feel of her in his arms and the way she smells, the words he keeps muttering, the closeness, the sense that he is trying to leave something behind. 

He leaves her the memory of his scent. 

The memory of hands pressing her too close.

The memory of his voice, struggling to be warm and calm and reassuring. 

The memory of the question he does not ask, will not ask, because he's a weak man. A fool, a flighty, horrible, unconscionable man. 

The memory of his beard tickling her as he kisses her one more, his hands grasping her face before she lets him go. 

He's not gone ten minutes before the pain strikes. Before the reality that he's walked out, has told her goodbye, without even asking, without knowing the truth, choosing not to bear a part of this with her---that is when she falls to the floor, and the source of her happiness that had been quietly floating with her all day leaves. It evacuates. It voids her system. 

It senses it's rejection, it's abandonment, and rushes out of her life. 

****************************  
Present day July 2015

Ed the taxi driver veered sharply in shock, flicking his gaze up in the mirror. He wasn't sure what he had expected when he picked up these two, but this heated confrontation was NOT at all on his radar.

Ichabod gapes at her, the glimpse of fragile hurt quickly replaced by cold venomous dislike. No, he swallows deeply. No, I dare say it's hate. "I didn't know," he croaks.

"Don't give me that Crane," she growls. "I told you I suspected and you were too busy planning your escape route to bother asking me what the result was that day."

He sits in stunned silence. He cannot deny it. He thought if the words weren't spoken then he could claim ignorance. 

"You didn't even-----Ichabod you never even wrote? You didn't care Ichabod, didn't care to find out I was carrying your child, what might have become of it after all this time. I wouldn't have aborted it, just so you know. I wouldn't have given them up. Because I don't abandon people I love," the tears well in her eyes but her face, her resolve is like stone. They are angry hurt tears, they are the tears that she has feared would drown her for years. 

Her words are heavy and loaded. Crane chokes on a sudden wave of grief. They had a child. Almost. The thing he was too fearful to face, and that inkling of life, it deserted her the moment he did. 

"There was once so much between us," she says. "Friendship and spirit, love, of some kind. It was messy, unruly and ill defined but it was ours." 

Ours.

Ours.

The word guts him

"They, could have been ours, Crane. However we ended up, they would have been ours. You---you took that from me. Took it from me to give it to her. Took it from me to have it with her. Don't give me that look, what did you THINK would happen when you abandoned me? when you upset me? You didn't think the stress, the goodbye, the flimsy promise that you would 'stay in touch' you didn't think that would do it? Tell me that wasn't your plan Crane, that maybe if you upset me enough, the problem would go away. Well guess what, it worked," she sobs, hating herself.

The accusation feels like she's poured ice water over his head. He feels sick. "No, that wasn't…I never thought----"

"And where is she now? do you have any of that now?"

"She's dead," he answers, his whole being feels numb, Abbie's pain is so violently raw, unrelenting. The words give Abbie pause. She considers his grief. Tries to weigh it against the burden she has carried for so long. The secret she parcelled away and told no one. Even raw and vulnerable, wretched as she is, she wants to feel bad for him. But at angry vengeful part of her is glad that he should mourn someone too. That he too will now know what it is to walk around haunted by what ifs and unknown futures. That she isn't alone in secret private pain. 

Ed keeps driving, his hands grip the wheel too tight. He waits for the next words, the next act of this saga to unfurl. The rain is still coming down. Ed keeps driving. The wipers so 'swish swish, swish swish,' 

This losses should bridge the gap of time and they should cross the cobbled stones of their shared paths and take refuge in each others arms. Should remember that once there was laughter, brightness, an infallible bond. 

This isn't us, Crane thinks as he feels tears leak out of his own eyes. He remembers the beautiful thing they were, and this isn't it. All he sees now is the frayed end of the rope that had bound them, the thing he severed so coldly---out of fear? had he been so disgustingly foolish?

"It wasn't that I didn't love you," he says quietly. "It's that I loved her too," it's weak, but it's true. It's his own stupid, futile truth. Abbie regards him for a moment, before she brushes a strand out of her eye, thumbs away a tear. 

*******************************  
Abbie Mills: April 2005

She didn't leave the house for a week. Her neighbour checked up on her, brought her cookies. Sweet old lady with grand kids that came over with her, bouncing on Abbie's lap, unaware of the pain it caused her to be around children.

She didn't tell anyone, of course. She suffered and grieved alone.

Thing is, Abbie hadn't been scared when she received the news. It hadn't been her plan of course to get pregnant, but she still had so much money left from the settlement, it was just sitting in the bank. Her schooling costs had come out of the fund her mother had set up for when she was born. Long story short, she would have been able to afford the baby. Whether Crane was involved or not, she would have kept them, raised them, fought her way through with her child. 

She was happy about it. Someone to love with all of herself, that she would have for the rest of her life. She'd be a wonderful mother, just as hers had been to her. All Abbie had wanted was something of her own to love. 

The unforgivable thing was that Crane hadn't cared that his news, his rapid evacuation from her life would cost her that. 

******************************  
July 2015

"It's not that I loved you, Crane," she replies, so damn angry he is making her delve into this all over again, plumbing depths that are like a dank, unforgiving well. "It's that I was already in love with the baby we lost. And you didn't care."


	9. Afters and Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time leaps for Abbie and Crane after he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta say I'm having anxiety about how this chapter is gonna be taken. I've had anxiety since I read all of your brilliant, involved, passionate comments this morning, it was incredibly moving and it's certainly making me very....careful about how I go about this. 
> 
> I also want to say I really and truly appreciate the lively conversation this story has prompted, none of my other works have generated this much analysis, and again it makes me feel so lucky to have you guys as readers.
> 
> I would also like to clarify. I am NOT excusing Crane during this chapter. I'm just trying to fill in a few gaps, answer questions on Crane's flighty, self centred behaviour. 
> 
> Also trying to show a bit how Abbie started coping, somewhat. 
> 
> with the help of a very out of character Orion. (shout out to my girl Nubia!) 
> 
> Apologies if this seemed rushed, but I felt like I really need to keep this one going, keep momentum. 
> 
> hint.....I do not have the traditional 'end game' in mind. 
> 
> I'm actually nervous.

Abbie Mills: March 2006

Abbie was a known person around town, so she didn't dare mourn too long before people started getting suspicious. The LAST thing she had needed was to keep opening that wound again for every well meaning ear. It's almost a year later, and for the most part, Abbie has stopped being sad, but in its place is anger. 

In it's place is rage and she carries it on her face. A scowl so deeply ingrained people cross the street when she walks it. Jenny came back at Christmas, with Nick Hawley trailing behind, and they were often at the house with silly antics and what have you, trying to draw Abbie back out of her shell. Jenny had noticed the change, but Abbie wouldn't say boo about what had happened. So instead she brought gifts for the house. Elaborate and strange paintings now adorned their walls, Hawley was always lugging some obscure artifact through their doors, setting it up in the living room or on a shelf. He brought books too, and liquors. Hawley was always traveling, while Jenny had taken a position at the Sleepy Hollow Museum, also teaching art history classes at SHU. Jenny and Hawley's efforts had turned the Mills childhood home into nothing short of a lavish, and mildly absurd, visual distraction----perhaps secretly hoping that at last Abbie would take issue with the latest outrageous addition and she would say something. Anything. 

But Abbie merely glanced at the intricately woven rug. And didn't even squirm at the shrunken head display Nick had found----not even Jenny had asked how he had obtained that. 

It's evening, and Abbie is slowing to a walk after a long, punishing run. Sometimes running is the only thing that helps, she's already stopped hoping that she could outrun her past. Instead she runs toward. To something. She doesn't know what yet, but she runs, for strength, as training, to tire her the hell out so she won't lay awake at night thinking. 

She strolls through town in the night air, walking past a bar, and there's a guy leaning outside of it. His arms have tattoos weaving up his arms, he lifts his head as he sees her approach. He smiles. 

She scowls.

"Rough night?" he calls. Abbie doesn't answer, considers how she'll throw him if he tries to attack her. "Are you alright?" 

Ignore. Ignore. She hears movement, and she stops to see he has advanced a couple paces behind her, but he hangs casually back. "ah, you can hear," he says, sounding amused he throws his hands up as a show of surrender. "I don't mean any harm. You just seem upset,"

"Don't you dare tell me to smile," she says through gritted teeth. 

"I wouldn't dare suggest the erasure of that scowl. It tells a story. Says you're angry at someone or something. The world, probably." he nods back toward the bar. "I bet you'd kill a set with your voice,"

Abbie forgets to scowl and blinks. "Where have you heard me sing? who are you?"

"I go wherever there's music. Scout voices. Even karaoke brings out the talented ones. I'm no hotshot, but producing is what I wanna do. I'm here every friday night. Come down and sing. You don't gotta smile, don't gotta sing nothing happy. Just pour it out,"

Abbie folds her arms, unimpressed. "You are?" she repeats.

"Come by next week and find out,"

Abbie went by the place two weeks later with Jenny and Hawley in tow. It was coffee house night. Abbie smiled to see so many people from town were musically inclined…..or believed themselves to be. She decided to get up and sing. At the end of the night the same tattooed guy came over to tell them goodnight. 

"Orion," he says, introducing himself. "I don't do promises of the moon and fame. But I create."

"Cool," Abbie mutters, already disinterested. 

"They say music heals," Orion calls after her as they depart.

**************************  
Ichabod Crane: April 2011

Katrina flips through their wedding album, smiling softly. Around her the hospital machinery beeps and chimes. "Remind me again why you never invited Abbie?" she asks. "She was a lovely girl, and one of your best friends, I would have liked for her to be in the wedding party," she says, and not for the first time.

Ichabod gently pries the album from his wife's hands. "They're going to take you down to the operation room soon,"

************************

Ichabod Crane: Teen Years

Ichabod had been raised and fed on order, things happening a certain way. Grow up go to school, good job, date, wed, children, death rinse repeat. He had always had order in his life. Tidy room, neatly kept belongings. Just so. That goes there. These match. Good Ichabod. Sit Ichabod. Fetch Ichabod. Make me proud Ichabod. Buttoned up starched shirt, groomed pristine bright Ichabod. Make your Mother proud, Ichabod. Don't disappoint your father, Ichabod. Roll over Ichabod. Stay Ichabod. What do you mean "math isn't your strong suit"? and the consequent boxing of his ears that followed. 

Teacher's pet. Perfect scores. "You do my homework or I'll kick your teeth in,"

Smart Ichabod. Too, damn, smart. 

Scrawny hands balled up tight. Who'd have known such fragile little hands could blacken eyes and loosen teeth and the crunch of bone in his opponents nose.

Snapped Ichabod. Wits End Ichabod. 

Took up the knife when his father went after him. 

Pressurized Ichabod blew a fuse. 

Loud Ichabod, angry Ichabod.

Plates shatter, his voice reverberates and echoes, siblings cower and hide. 

Head on collisions between father and son.

"You're embarrassing me," 

"Control yourself"

"You're going to ruin your life if you don't get a grip," says a new voice. He's sitting down at the station, got in another fight at school. A knife was involved. Ichabod is a sixteen year old terror strung too tight by expectations. He glares up at the boy he hasn't spoken to in what feels like ages. Blond hair and blue eyes peer sternly down at him.

"What are you doing here," he sneers.

"Heard they hauled you off again after lunch period, thought I'd come by,"

"Go away Abraham."

"You can't keep doing this. Your anger is getting out of hand, and if you lose control every damn time you're gonna screw up your life, in a big way." 

"Aren't you missing class?"

Abraham cracks a sly smile. "Aren't you?"

"Oh wipe that damn grin off your face,"

"Ichabod, you've got one more year to get yourself on track and then get out of that house, away from your father. Now's not the time to screw it up. Get your act together. Learn some control" 

So Ichabod went to counselling for his anger management, kicking and screaming. Coincidentally,he met Katrina at the same doctors office. She had social anxiety. Some might have said that a man with anger issues and a girl with anxiety would make a poor match. But Katrina was beautifully quiet, effortlessly still. Collected, calm, cool.

And be it the counselling or infatuation, Ichabod became just that. He regained his composure, his sense of self possession. He became sweet and controlled and gentlemanly. He became the sort of mild mannered man that could coax Katrina out of her shell, and she was so grateful to him for trying. So glad to sling her arm through his. And whenever he felt like he was slipping, like he might become ungoverned and spiral off the deep end, he remembered Katrina, the kind of man he would strive to be for her---he needed her, because she reminded him that he needed to have control of his life. He needed to sort out issues logically. Not with fists. Not with yelling and knives. He went back to Good Ichabod, loyal Ichabod, sweet, soft spoken Ichabod.

But his family never looked at him quite the same, knowing the simmering temper that lay dormant underneath. They were quite glad, actually, when he said he'd be leaving for the States to continue schooling. He was thrilled to have the distance, away and out from his father's tyranny. 

2001-2005

Being with Abbie unravelled parts of him he could have sworn he had bound tight. His sense of calm admiration of the world became a desire to immerse in it. Abbie wasn't a constant steady stream. Abbie was vibrant, multicoloured and everything Ichabod had struggled to become, upstanding, learned, the demons he had conquered, he let go of the reigns. He, laughed. 

He, he did poorly on assignments on occasion, and didn't beat himself up striving for perfection and approval from that monster he was to call father. He danced. Oh had his father ever caught him dancing he would have broken his legs.

With Abbie, he became himself. Became Ichabod. 

But he was always haunted by the fact that himself, the one with emotions and no governing, was a monster lying in wait, the Hyde to his Jekyll, and one day that monster would be let loose and destroy absolutely everything.

And when he realized that he was in love with Abbie too, in love with his own sense of to hell with the world and devil may care----he thought he was in danger of becoming the reckless thing of his youth. 

He'd never told Abbie but he'd gotten into fights since attending SHU. They were quickly dispersed, but the red blind rage had appeared to him, taunting him like a demon, and he was petrified of himself. What he could become if he didn't get a grip, didn't gain control. Didn't maintain order and keep a tidy, well planned, well laid out life. 

Ichabod was afraid of what an unprecedented shift in his life would cause. What he might say, what he might do. He didn't have any confidence in himself, that he would be able to cope.

So back he went. To cool, calm, collected Katrina. Who reminded him of who he was, and not who he was afraid to be.

***********************  
Abbie Mills: July 2009

"No no no damn Mills come on. You're singing the damn song like you're afraid of it." Orion throws off his head phones and bangs the window of the booth. Abbie throws her arms up in the air.

"I'm not feeling it Ry" 

" what have I told you about calling me 'Ry'?" Orion whines, putting his head in his hands. 

Abbie snickers and leans on the wall. "It's just not in me."

"It hasn't been in you since your first album,"

"Five songs, Orion," she stresses. "And besides, you said no fame and nonsense,"

"Yeah but I didn't say no heart. It's like you used it all up on the first shot."

Abbie shrugs. Orion raises a brow at her. "Maybe you did, huh. Is that it?"

"We worked on that mix tape or whatever you want to call it for a year and half. Took a lot out of me," 

Orion's face softens. "I know babe I know. Guess you've got most of it out of your system. Maybe it's time you moved on,"

"Are you talking me out of this?" Abbie asks, amused.

"I'm a damn fool for that aren't I? But let it never be said I'm the kinda slave driver producer that runs his talent into the ground. If you ever wanna get back to it, you know where to find me. Me alone, understand, don't let me hear any of these other punks are producing for you,"

"Too bad I never blew up the charts. I'm sorry I couldn't do that for you," Abbie says, not feeling sorry at all, smiling more in this recording session then she thinks she has in ages. 

Orion cracks a smile and wraps his arms around her. "What matters is you were heard. You made something beautiful out of yourself, took what ails you, and made it into something. That's what I wanted Abbie," he pulls back and not for the first time, Orion wishes he had considered asking her out first before deciding he wanted to work with her, because she has gorgeous eyes and an incredible voice and heart. She didn't wear it on her sleeve, but you could hear Abbie's heart when she sang. It didn't matter if her debut album had raked in cash or not, that wasn't what he was about. He wanted soul. And Abbie had it in spades.

*********************************  
Ichabod Crane: August 2008

He drops his bag at the front door, calmly shucks off his shoes and freezes on the spot. That voice. He whips his head around. He's heard it countless times as he slept, but to hear it in his waking hours is a sign of madness, surely. All of his fighting to remain sane has been for nought. The voice is filling up the room, the whole house, it's devouring his air, creeping into his brain and feasting on his mind. It's haunting him, making his heart run rampant and he breaks into an instant sweat. 

"Kat-katrina?" he rasps. 

Katrina comes out to the hall to greet him, singing along with a smile so wide on her face he feels he must be in a nightmare. How can she not hear it? He wonders. The pain in that soulful belt? The loneliness that is clawing at him, eating him alive. How can she stand it? 

"Ichabod my love?" she asks, reaching for him, touching his face. "Are you alright?"

"What is this?" he demands.

"What's--oh!" she claps her hand delightedly. "I was in a shop today and I heard this, look!" she vanishes from the room and returns with a slim case and brandishes it before him. She might as well be holding him at gun point. "It's Abbie! it's a short album, but it's very good!"

His vision blurs, and all he hears is Katrina's panicked scream before the world goes black.

When he comes too, another song is playing. It's still her voice. Her beautiful, flawless voice. This song is different, it's reminiscent and hopeful, it's isolated and partitioned off specifically to a good place, a happy place. As he lies there on the floor with Katrina hovering over him he listens to Abbie sing of unexpected joy and trust and having blind faith because "No one else knew me in a crowd, like you did. And no one else knew you in the dark, like I did. No one else knew us, the way you and I knew, only you and I, could ever know." 

Ichabod sobs on the floor, tears running into his hair, he heaves and bucks and bawls as he listens to Abbie sing of something they once had. How did she find the strength to go back there? he babbles incoherently as he continues to cry, Katrina pats him and shakes him, frantic.

"Ichabod, what's wrong?"

"Everything," he chokes, cramming his fist in his mouth in a helpless attempt to stem the broken sobs that keep coming out. His howling and shuddering grating on his own ears. "Everything, everything, everything,"

After all, he had been the monster he feared, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still nervous.
> 
> Please comment and give me your input guys! You're being so influential in shaping this story! 
> 
> .....hopefully this chapter wasn't a huge mess. Hopefully.


	10. On Her End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a Katrina centric chapter. 
> 
> shows moments of her marriage with Ichabod, how she passed. also I needed to get them the hell out of that taxi because they could very well end up spending the whole story there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hope is to start moving on with the more entertaining parts of this story.

July 2015

Ed slams the breaks. "Keep your money get out of my cab,"

Both Abbie and Crane jolt from their moment and blink in shock.

"Sir," Crane rasps, clearing his throat. "This is your occupation, is it not? You are being paid for your time," he says, his voice is on a fractured edge, he could splinter either into a desperate plea or a rage. 

Ed shoots back. "Not enough to listen to this. You're a disgusting man and you miss are angry as hell, and I'm not gonna be accountable if she lays your ass out in my cab. Out, both of you, keep your cash," 

"Fine by me," Abbie flicks the lock, grabs her bag and pitches herself from the vehicle, at least relieved that it's stopped raining, though the sky is still overcast, and, someone up there loves her, because she's not far from her house. Barely ten paces. Alas, the door slams behind her as she strikes off, and Ed the taxi blazes a trail driving away.

There is a moment in Crane pauses, swept up by memory as he gazes up at the house. It's aged, but it's true, he remembers being welcome in this home--but he has no time to reminisce. He lunges and grabs her wrist.

"Grace Abigail Mills," he hisses, irritated now that she would unload all of that on him and walk away---but then his sense of gravity is inverted and his back hits wet pavement. Hard. He has but a second to register that Abbie just threw him when she rolls him over, pressing her knee between his shoulder blades and wrestles his arm behind his back. 

"You keep my name out of your damn mouth Crane."

He struggles for a moment but she twists his arm and he let's out a strangled yell. 

"Abb--" he chokes off again as she presses harder. "Miss---"

"Lieutenant Mills," she growls, applying more pressure. "And you will respect an officer of the law or so help me I will take you down to the station. You'll be in a cell so fast your head will spin,"

************************  
Katrina Van Tassel: Summer 2004

Katrina should have known, then, when she stood outside the Crane residence and the strange, small, dark woman answered the door. It was in Abbie's eyes, the barely there recognition, regarding Katrina as if she were the strange one, flying across the seas to visit a mere friend for the summer. She'd heard of Abbie, of course, Crane had mentioned her numerous times, thus why she so readily greeted her. Abbie however, well Abbie might as well have said "He's never breathed your name," 

It wasn't Abbie's fault though if Crane could be a maddeningly private man---so she endeavoured to like her, which wasn't much of a task because Abbie was, truly, a breath of fresh air, she was funny and warm and welcoming, and she might have said too close to Ichabod, if she wouldn't be at risk of being labelled jealous and quarrelsome. But otherwise, she genuinely liked Abbie, and in some ways didn't even mind that Ichabod pretended not to be over fond. 

"She's a very close friend," he'd told her when he'd announced he was inviting his best friend from the U.S to come visit. He'd neglected to mention she was pretty, of course, and that by best friend he really should have said joined at the hip. 

It was that summer, while getting along with Abbie, and watching how Ichabod got along with Abbie, that Katrina had the smallest of doubts. 

"Come on!" Abbie bellows, waving her over. They're setting up for a water fight. "You're on my team! we're gonna school Ichabod and his brothers!" Abbie laughs, posturing with her water gun. Katrina shakes her head and joins her, taking up arms at Abbie's side. 

They both aim for Ichabod.

January 2005

It's easier to let him go then to quarrel over the phone about how he never calls enough, and when he does he sounds distracted. 

March 2005

She loathes confrontation, but she thinks what they have, what they are to each other is still worth saving. 

He gave her confidence and strength when peers were cruel and her family at their wits end with her anxiety attacks. He gave her courage to speak her mind when she was hurt, the words she had needed to tell him she was through. He had taught her how to wield the knife that would wound his heart. She had watched him struggle to master his temper, watched him ask forgiveness and try his best to change. So she would change now, too. She would fight for him, the way he had fought for her.

She prays that it isn't a disastrous idea as she boards the plane. 

April 2005

They hadn't been home for more than two weeks before they got married.

Under different circumstances, people might have thought their hurried nuptials unseemly. But Ichabod had been gone since september, and Katrina had been maddeningly loyal to him, much to the dismay of her sisters and one other particularly worldly female friend. So eager and in love had been good enough explanation. It would suffice.

After all, she certainly hadn't put up much of a fight before agreeing to marry him. The sight of tall, proud Ichabod Crane on his knees---not bended knee---she would always clarify when she told the story, but on both of his knees, hands clasped before him, begging her. 

"Please my love, save me and be mine."

She couldn't have known he was asking her to be a scapegoat. To whisk him away from all things unplanned and scary. All she'd heard was a man who had been, she liked to believe, madly in love with her, and had been positively desperate to reconcile. And she certainly hadn't been in any place to refuse.

Katrina had been a strange child, talked more to animals and plants than humans, and when confronted with children, she stammered and her throat would close and she'd go red in the face and burst into tears, her stutter had never helped matters. Her parents had sent her to speech therapist, for confidence. Etiquette, for poise. Bought her dresses they couldn't afford and hired tutors and sent her to music classes, trying their damned best to give her every asset in the world, in spite of her crippling fears. She'd earned enough unkind nicknames in their neighbourhood, and with her father at the factory, mother working in a coffee shop, even all dolled up she still wasn't a 'catch' They were small minded people, her family. Had all but tripped over themselves when she had told them she'd met Dr. Crane's son at the doctors office. Her parents wouldn't have been thrilled had she refused. 

So it's lucky that she loves him, and he loves her. They will help each other withstand and conquer all challenges. He would be the wind in her sails when she needed to venture out and be brave. She would be his grounding when he was in danger of being carried away.

It was a quiet, small wedding, held in his parents garden. 

"It's a pity Abbie couldn't come," she murmurs softly as she looks down at her plate of cake. She doesn't like carrot cake. Ichabod used to know that. 

He doesn't say anything, merely blinks rapidly and dabs his eye. Someone catches him and coos "Oh, what a sweet heart, he's so happy he's crying,"

Katrina has never seen a smile look so painful. 

August 2008

After, when she has pulled an inconsolable Crane up off the floor and helped him to the shower, and then left him alone in the bedroom because "all I want right now is to sleep," Katrina goes back downstairs and turns off the stereo, picks up the case and puts the CD back in, flipping it over and reading the song titles. 

Track 1 Left at the Station  
Track 2 Summers away  
Track 3 Only you and I   
Track 4 Not Cold Hearted Just Ill Mannered  
Track 5 Living with yourself/myself

She considers the list, the strange, hyper emotional reaction her husband just experienced, and turns it over to look at Abbie's face on the cover. Well, her profile. Looking out a window, watching a plane take off in the distance. Like she's saying goodbye. She'd always thought that the disruption of Ichabod's and Abbie's friendship was strange, had even hoped that he would have been glad to hear the CD, an excuse to write her maybe and say "I've heard your music, it's wonderful," and repair that bond that even though it had caused her a small measure of envy, it had brought Ichabod joy. He doesn't smile nearly enough anymore. 

Katrina puts the CD away. She glances out the window and there's a plane flying by overhead. She imagines that she looks like Abbie on that album cover. Watching something take off and leaving her behind. 

It is the first time that Katrina fears, it might be her marriage.

She regrets asking him about it a week later. What was it that had triggered his outburst. Did he have a horrible day? was it the music? Do you miss Abbie? what ever you two disagreed on, surely it can be repaired by now. 

"I just don't understand why you won't talk about it,"

"Because I don't damning well owe you an explanation!"

"I'm your wife, Ichabod" 

"And I'm your husband, after everything, that ought to be enough,"

April 2009

She comes across his planner while she's cleaning. She doesn't usually snoop, but Ichabod tries her patience on the best of days, and he's been especially grumpy as of late.

This time of year always puts him in a poor mood, which makes their wedding anniversaries none to pleasant. He buys her lovely gifts, though. Diamond necklaces and books, and took her to the Opera once. He always has a kiss for her, some loving words, but it's always rough on them both in April. It's like a part of him vacations elsewhere. He's only ever half a man this time of year. Half a heart. 

Because she's overly concerned, and a good wife, she asserts, she flips through, and finds he's written a note. It's the day he proposed to her. But it's not addressed to her. Hair standing on end Katrina moves to his night stand, pulls the bottom drawer out, slowly. 

He always keeps his old planners from year to year, an odd compulsive habit that he's developed, and with shaking fingers she flips through them, finding the same date, tracing the same name with her eyes. But it's not just the date he proposed, she realizes, there's a time in fall where he writes vaguely. "Today, they will be one."

"Today, they turn two."

The words run into a blur. Her neck feels hot and she crams all the journals back in the drawer, leaving everything just as she found it. She abandons cleaning for the day.

Today she got the answers she had wanted.

And now she doesn't want them. 

October 2010 

She considers writing her, because she needs to know if what she found and 'forgot' she had found in April is true---if it is---if it is----but if it's not she'll know Ichabod has finally lost his mind.

That's actually a far more tolerable thought, she decides, putting down the pen and humming to herself. "Ichabod is just….delusional."

February 2011

They have been trying for years to have a child. 

March 2011

Katrina collapses at the table for Sunday dinner.

at the hospital they are kindly informed, "We've found a tumour,"

It's not a tumour, she wants to correct them, it's burden and secrets and guilt. I ruined a woman's life and all I did was get off a plane. 

April 2011

"They're going to take you down to the operation room soon," Ichabod says gently, clasping her hand. Did you use that soft kind voice of yours with her? Katrina wants to ask. Were you so gentle with her---before you ran off with me? 

September 2011

Her hair has started growing back. Ichabod continues to dote on her but she can't stand to be coddled. Every time he moves to soothe her when she hisses in pain, every time he holds her hand she wants to bite him. 

How could you make me this thing? she wants to ask. How could you use me to run away? Did you ever love me? ever?

November 2011

She's stronger now than she ever thought she could be, in her whole life. She stands upright, holds her head high. Because she's won, for now, they say, she fought hard and valiantly, and lucky it was in the beginning stages and she is a conqueror. She is bright eyes and sharp tongued and outgoing, because life is short, and she won't waste it now. She goes dancing, dragging Ichabod along with her. They try new foods, go to music festivals. Katrina has never been so determined to overcome and live, and be selfish damn it. She's never been self serving, never just wanted things and took them, regardless of consequences, and she's angry too, she's bitter----so she wears on Crane. She hauls him to and fro, laughing and exploring because since he thought it fitting to use her as a distraction, distraction she will be. 

May 2012

Because her heart is weak, she loves him still. She loves him enough to want to see him hurt. She taunts him. She confesses to what she found and rails at him because she was wronged. She thought she was marrying respectable, sound of heart and mind Ichabod Crane. What she got is this conniving coward of a man. 

"Do you still love her?" she asks as she breathes down his neck, unbuttoning his collar. 

He nods solemnly. "Yes"

"Would you go back to her now? given the chance?" her lips hover before his.

"She wouldn't have me,"

June 2012

They argue often, make up often. This is their state now. Things they can't take back but linger over anyway. Somewhere it becomes less push and pull and more misery. Ichabod comes home and Katrina stops dead in her tracks, there's a bag in her hand and another at the door.

"Katrina" he warns.

"Out of my way Ichabod,"

"Don't. Do. this."

"I'm tired, Ichabod. I'm tired of having half a husband and half a marriage and hot and cold and five good days for another three bad ones. This isn't what I wanted."

He reaches for her and she draws back. "Don't touch me,"

"Or what," he snarls because he's had it now. She doesn't get to make him miserable after her chose her to begin with, and then decide she's going to leave. 

"I'll hurt you,"

"You're not leaving!" he insists as he reaches for her again.

He feels the hard floor beneath his back, and he raises himself up on his forearms, blinking, still dazed when he finds himself staring down a barrel.

"Is that a gun?" he asks in disbelief. Katrina's hand wavers. He has shattered enough plates by now that she has developed a level of fear. They have yelled loud enough that she thinks she hears the monstrous roar of the demon he battles to keep at bay. "Katrina?"

"You're going to let me leave," She says, her lip quavers. "You're going to give me time to sort out what the hell this is, because this, this, this isn't us, Ichabod. This isn't you,"

"But it is, my love. This is always what I've been."

She lowers the gun a fraction, because she doesn't want to leave, not really, but she wants the Ichabod who will tell her the truth, who'll love her unconditionally, not because no one else will have him. "I love you," she says, "Always have, but I never had all of you, never"

"You make me a better man, Katrina," he pleads. "But when I was with her, I could be myself. And who I am is irrational, messy and awful. Why do you think my family was so glad to be rid of me? You remind me I need balance,"

"I'm not a mantra you say in meditation Ichabod. I'm not…I'm not twelve steps personified. I am a living breathing woman who has----"

"Don't leave me. Please. I do love you, in different ways and for different reasons. But you are not the same women, I could not love you both in the same way. I am two men in one body sharing a heart. I chose you, didn't I? I chose you,"

"Was she pregnant?" she asks at last.

"I…..she may have been. I wasn't unfaithful to you, it happened when you and I weren't together," he nods to the gun. "Are--are you afraid of me?"

"I've been afraid of you for the past two years, because I don't know who you are. You're calm, you're volatile, you love two women, you might have a child," she rattles off. 

Katrina screws up her courage and grasps the door handle. 

"Promise you'll come back,"

"I'm not prepared to make a vow I might break, Ichabod. I don't have the strong stomach you do for disappointing others"

January 2013

Crane visits her at her apartment and begs her to come home. He's lost count of what number this is. But he's here again, because he's had time to be alone, and it's unbearable, and he cannot live with hurt on both ends. He was fool once, but he cannot be one again, not when Katrina looks so pale, and her voice is so whisper light.

"Come home," he begs through tears, grasping her hand. "I know you can't forget what I've done but please Katrina, let me do this. Let me take care of you,"

"I'm dying, Ichabod,"

"We're all dying my love," he murmurs, wiping away tears.

She smiles gently at him. "Some quicker than others,"

February 2013

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better man to you. After all of that, I was never worthy of you."

"You have been the Ichabod I fell in love with these past two months. Whether or not that's the real you, I'll never know," a sharp intake of breath, he grips her hand, brushes the beads of sweat off her clean shaven head. "But whatever the case may be, thank you." she pauses to swallow. Machines beep. Down the hall someone chokes or vomits or commits some other final act of life--nurses rushing down the corridors and code this--- he turns his eyes back on Katrina "I don't think I would have abandoned you, Ichabod. I don't know what would have happened, because I liked Abbie---but you never gave either of us a choice. You made decisions for us Ichabod,"

"I----"

"I wish you peace, Ichabod."

"Katrina, no, you're not ready--I'm not ready--"

"I don't think I run on mortal time anymore."

"Katrina,"

"Good bye, my love,"

**************************************

July 2015

Abbie slowly gets off his back, letting him up, wipes her hands on her dress as if she is contaminated. His head hung in shame he picks up his discarded bag, he turns to her one more time. She jerks her head to the side.

"Walk Crane."

"This isn't over,"

"You threatening me Crane?"

"No. No, I'm vowing to you, I will do my penance. I will stand and face judgement."

"Not on my lawn you don't," she snaps, feeling so weary, so drained and tired. "Just, get out of here. Please." She watches him trudge off, she heaves a sigh and walks up the pavement to her front door, puts the key in the lock and takes two deep breaths before opening the door and getting an unwelcome eyeful.

"Heyo!" Nick scrambles to wrap a blanket around his naked lower half.

"Whoa whoa whoa" Abbie throws an arm over her eyes. "What did I tell you guys about Naked Hawley's in the house?"

"To keep them in my bedroom," Jenny snickers as she saunters out in Hawley's shirt, pinching him as she heads to the kitchen, he yelps and drops the blanket and Lord this is more of Hawley's package than she has ever wanted to see in her life. 

"Just don't sit on anything," she says hurriedly as she makes for her room.

Jenny smirks and says too loudly, "Guess we shouldn't tell her about the dining table, eh babe?"


	11. This Song Goes Out To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny teases Abbie about her former music career. A little bit of when Orion popped back in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Orion as per a request. 
> 
> I'm ready to move on to more romance and fun times and playful drama. Trying to ease up a tad on the angst.

"You know what I never got?" Jenny says to no in particular. She's showered and changed out of Hawley's shirt and has politely barged into Abbie's room where Abbie has been hyperventilating for about ten minutes. Because in the midst of the taxi ride from hell she forgot that she'd lost her engagement ring. And now she's remembered. And now she's panicking like hell. 

"What" she snaps, irritable now as she scrunches her brow, trying to think, think, think. 

Jenny wrinkles your nose. "If you're constipated you might wanna take that struggle to the bathroom, just saying,"

"Oh!" Abbie groans and chucks the nearest pillow at her sister's head. She misses of course. She's a sure shot with a deadly weapon in her hand, but big, fluffy things? not so much. Jenny smirks and sidles further into the room. 

"You alright?" she asks, plunking down on the bed next to her. Abbie takes a deep breath. There is nothing she can tell Jenny about today that won't result in yet another miserable trip down memory lane. She just doesn't have the energy for that. Even explaining that she lost her ring is tied to that disastrous collision. She thinks bitterly that Crane has managed to make her lose something important. Valuable. Life Changing. Again.

"Nothing, long day," 

"Got anything good to read?"

"Yeah, bunch of recommendations, and a silly pen."

Jenny's eyes light up---Abbie hasn't been downright silly in years. "Let's see" and Abbie hands her the novelty pen and Jenny makes the most precious gleeful sound. "Aww look at you, getting all starry eyed about your wedding, buying your self faux diamond pens to match your---"

Abbie stands up abruptly and begins filing her new books away, because one more second and Jenny will notice her bare ring finger. "What were you saying earlier?" she asks, keeping her back turned and her fingers busy and trying to think of an explanation.

"I never got why you didn't ride Orion all the way into the sunset. Or top of the Billboard 100 charts. Either one," 

"Jenny!" Abbie scolds, scandalized. "I'm---"

Jenny groans. "I know I know, 'to be wed' 'spoken for' betrothed'---"

"I have never used the word betrothed---"

"which is a shame because I'd get a kick out of relaying it during my speech. No disrespect to the future Mr. Mills----"

"Jenny" Abbie admonishes, scrubbing a hand across her face. 

"But I always thought you two had a little……something extra,"

"Do you think now is the wisest time to start examining extra things? I had my ever-loving dress fitting today."

Jenny grins wickedly. "Ever heard of a runaway bride?"

"You have until the count of ten,"

"You know that song was about you," she taunts.

"No it wasn't," Abbie protests calmly.

But of course it was.

****************************************  
Orion Angel: July 2012

Orion did well for himself, despite the fact that he adamantly laid no claims to fame nor fortune. He just wanted to create. People just happened to adore the things he made. He still got an off beat request for Abbie's first album, every now and again. An odd thing, because it had never 'peaked' anywhere, some radio play and a few article features, he'd only made so many copies, and it had been spread thin due to being widely distributed---he wasn't very business minded back then. He still blames it's lack of 'success' by capitalist standards on himself. He should have promoted it more. Got her more opportunities. But he had still been so green back then, in spite of all his talk, he was so new to the business end of things. His recording technique and skill was sound, the smarts at the time….just hadn't quite caught up. But he made good music back then, and as he met more people, did more reading, took the training it takes to survive in the music world, he only got better. Records went platinum, awards crowded his walls. He was in demand. 

"I want the Angel," they'd say. 

"Get Angel on this and I'm in,"

He was the ever loving, freaking, move over Andrew Lloyd Weber---Angel of music. 

Only one person still ever called him Orion. And 'Ry' when she wanted to needle him. 

"Long time no see Ry," Abbie smiles. 

He had called the morning he got back in town---he'd been all over the place these days, but usually based in Los Angeles---and had said on the phone. "I got a track I want you to hear, from one artist to another," 

Abbie had rolled her eyes. She hadn't been an 'artist' since 2008 and even then the claim had seemed flimsy at best. "If this is your way of baiting me---"

"Oh my dear Angry Abbie," he cut in and Abbie groaned. He'd called her that for a full year when they'd been recording. She'd half feared he would make it the title of the album. 

"What have I told you about calling me that,"

"What have I said about calling me Ry? My mamma calls me that man,"

"Orion,"

"Look, just get down here, okay? I'm not in town long, I've gotta roll out in two days. This is my holiday Mills, and I just wanna spend it remembering some old times. And listening to some new tunes. Is that such a God awful idea?"

She wants to say it's a stupid idea, but the only thing worse than a pleading Orion is the whining one that takes up residence shortly after. Even if she's always thought he was kinda cute when he whines. It's the absurd childishness of it compounded with his serious artist, inked up exterior. 

"Fine," she'd agreed.

So there she is, in the old booth, taking in the interior, but she's on the other side of the glass this time, behind the board with Orion while he boots up the software, adjusts the levels. 

"You don't do solo work," she comments absently, her chin propped on her hand propped on her knee. 

"I don't," he confirms. 

"So what is it, taking your own turn in the spotlight?" Abbie teases, because, and this is the most ridiculous part, Orion suffers from incapacitating stage fright. She's seen it, it's ugly and awful, and painfully funny because who would think a man who prides himself on creating some of 'the most soulful, truthful, real music ever performed' is literally unable to handle being on stage. Orion cuts his eyes at her, amber gaze twinkling, but the corner of his mouth quirks up into an amused smirk, starts rising from his seat.

"Ever the comedian eh,"

Abbie leans back in the chair. "Just play the track," 

He walks around her chair, leans down to be at level with her ear "I'll do ya one better, Mills," he whispers, and Abbie will always staunchly deny shivering at his closeness. She watches him saunter out of the booth and position himself behind the mic. Her jaw drops.

"What are you doing?"

"I think I'm about to wipe that smug grin off your face," he says. "Hit it." Abbie leans back and takes in the board, all levers and buttons and lights and channels and feels incredibly out of her element. 

"Um?" she shrugs and laughs. "Which one?"

"Couple years out the booth she forgets everything," he sighs, mock exasperated with her. "That black one hon," Abbie gently depresses the button, slips on the headphones and feels the bass thrum in her bones. A low synth sound. She taps her fingers on her knee in appreciation, the sound is a little old school r&b, a little blue eyed soul and she's zoned out enjoying the instrumental before Orion's voice cuts in and Abbie blinks her eyes open. Someone's been taking lessons, is her first thought.

"Met a girl she got a chip on her shoulder, don't wanna let no one hold her and every time I try she just shuts me down. And I ain't trying to save her she thinks I'm trying to save her but I know a warrior when I see one and she's proud. She got a medal for suffering, gave her a crown for her healing, ain't got a throne but maybe my lap would do. I wanna be the angel on your shoulder fighting the devil that haunts you . You got a chip my darling, on your shoulder, and you're putting a crack in my heart." 

Abbie sits in stunned silence. Orion eyes started out closed but now they're open, trained on her. Her brain is in shock. She tries to think of anytime when they had been working together when she suspected----he always did stand too close when they were working. His eyes did always light up when she sang, but she thought that was a sort of….musical fascination. Not, her. When the song is finished he comes back in the booth next to her and sits down. "Well?" he asks, all cool innocence, and for a second she doubts, maybe the song isn't about her, for her, none of that, but it's the way he's leaning forward---too eager to get an answer. "Well?" he presses.

She swallows. "It's good." she squeaks to her dismay, and Orion flashes her a smile. She clears her throat, tries to adjust for an age appropriate octave. "It's good," she repeats. "it's, very, very good," 

He leans back, arms folded and cocks his head to the side. "You alright? you look a little faint,"

"Who--" no, wrong way to start this one"---what inspired it?"

"Remember how you wouldn't talk about your songs? who they were about?" Abbie nods mutely. "Well, it's sorta like that. However," he levels his gaze with her. "If you made an educated guess, I won't deny if you're right,"

Don't guess. Abbie tells herself. Don't you damning well open your mouth and make that self centred assumption, because if you do, he's going to come over here and….and…well it's freaking Orion Angel, there's no telling what he'll do, but then he'll leave, and-----

In the split second it takes for her to rationalize Orion has crossed the small booth space and grips the handles of the chair she's in. He leans in imperceptibly. "You like the track, Mills?"

"Yes," she rasps.

"Think it's got heart?"

"It's yours, thats kind of a prerequisite" 

"I've been thinking it'd make a sweet duet. Female chorus. I've got the music in my bag, you wanna give it a go?"

"Ry----" he puts a finger to her lips. 

"You ain't signing a deal or anything, just helping me flesh out the tune," he says softly. His finger is still pressed to her lips. She is sweating. This is different. This is VERY VERY DIFFERENT than when she had worked with him in the past. He was always a little flirtatious, but maybe success has made him bold, maybe time has taught him to take his chances. "Come on, You know we never sang a duet when we worked together? you know you want to," he wheedles, and she does. Abbie never abandoned karaoke, but she does miss the thrill of creating something new, the journey of taking something undiscovered and crafting it just right for your voice. She'd run out of material back then, everything from that record had been unresolved emotions and memories and things that just needed to come out. All Abbie had wanted to do back then was bleed, and she'd done it all over those songs. Bled her emotional self as dry as she could get, never thinking that while she was cutting herself open to Orion's tunes that maybe he was itching to stitch her back up. 

"Back up off me, and we can try," she manages, her breathing ragged. Orion pulls back, produces music from what to this day she would almost think was thin air, hits the button and then sprints her back to the mic and he shoves the music at her and lucky thing Abbie never forgot how to read music.

It's unsettling hearing his smooth voice in her ear. How close, how confidential and warm it is. "But I've got a crack in my heart," he sings and grips her shoulder to encourage her into the chorus, singing it along with her.

"Got a crack in my heart, babe. Where do I start, can kisses bandage bleeding wounds I don't think so but i'll try. Been trying to work up the nerve. How do you like your love served? Give it to you cold, hot like medicine I know you're strong enough to heal, heal, your own heart without my help" Orion's hand slides to her waist as she sings.

"Heal my own heart without your help"

"two heads are better, two hearts are stronger, I just wanna take the chip off your shoulder," they sing together, Abbie embellishing harmony and Orion gives her a light squeeze, tugging her gently closer. His breath is on her neck as they continue to groove out to the beat, singing the song, locking it in. They're swaying together as they sing, his hands are on her hips and she knows they're going into dangerous territory but she's having so much fun with this song, it's like old times but new, because they're really doing this together in a way that they hadn't before.

"Kiss the chip off your shoulder," 

"heal the crack in your heart,"

"kiss the chip off your---" Abbie's voice cracks as she feels his lips brush her neck. Once. Twice, the second hits her collarbone. Three lands right on her shoulder and Abbie's breathing ramps up. "Ry," she starts. 

"I'll let you get away with that one more time if you'll do me favour,"

"Yeah? what's the favour?"

He twines his fingers with hers and turns her so she's facing him. "Tell me you love the song"

She kisses him. She snaps and launches a full assault. He kisses her. Her back hits the wall and he's carrying on like he has all the time in the world and she is shivering---has she ever shivered? no she's never shivered--except for when he whispered a couple minutes ago---- as his hands trail up the back of her shirt and he hitches a leg up around his waist leaning into her. "You better release that song," she rasps as he trails kisses along her neck. "You better make it go platinum,"

"I'd trade the accolades Abbie," he murmurs, capturing her lips again. If only this was how it could be, he thinks. Creating and loving. But he knows Abbie. She won't let him have more than this, a stolen moment in the studio. 

Because whether or not she likes to admit it Abbie dislikes men who leave, men for whom leaving is a part of their life. And she's afraid of holding men back, afraid of being an anchor, of tethering them when they have to go. And she's not ready to take flight yet, either. She's healed, and moved on in many ways, but she hasn't quite figured out entirely how to let go. 

So he doesn't ask her for more than this, not now. He thinks he might write a song about her lips next. He might be writing songs about her lips for years to come. 

The woman can kiss.

********************************

"You know, he's doing his annual talent show here this year," Jenny says off handedly. 

Abbie scoffs. "Are you suggesting I try out? attempt to relaunch my music career? I don't think so"

"The soon to be ball and chain wouldn't approve?"

"You've got one more time," Abbie warns.

Jenny shrugs. "I didn't say jump his bones, I said it'd be nice for you two to catch up, invite him to your wedding. You know, he might like it, hot shot music mogul at his wedding ceremony,"

"I will pay you to shut up."


	12. A Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod returns home. A little of after Katrina died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I can't write happy things for very long. Another stop in angst city.

Three blocks from Abbie's home, Ichabod trudges through the front doors. Abraham has dozed off with his guitar in his lap and startles awake at his friends soggy entrance, he fumbles for a moment before remembering he had been excited to tell Ichabod something----right! He leaps off the couch, arms wide.

"I'm choosing to ignore your note because, contrary to what you think, I HAVE found the perfect girl for you! And she's gorgeous Ichabod, beautiful skin, spitfire eyes….Hey I'm describing a Goddess among men here and you're just…..I don't know what it is you're doing but it's very eerie. Please Stop."

Ichabod continues to stand stock still in the doorway, clothes still dripping, eyes still red, face drawn and he looks like a miserable creature. He stares blankly ahead of him, only blinking once at Abraham's words before turning slowly, so slowly, like he's one hundred and one years old, like his body has finally run out of the energy to carry him and carefully lowers his bag and straightens again. Hands clenching and unclenching at his side. 

"Are you alright?"

"Dandy" Ichabod replies through tight lips, but Abraham is still so eager to finish his tale the bitterness in Ichabod's voice barely registers.

"Anyway, let me give you the story, I'm coming back from the bank, right, and I turn a left, and there's that starbucks around the corner? And I hear her laugh. It's an amazing joy filled laugh. Beautiful, and then I see her, well them. Two flawless women, but this one has a spark, and if I wasn't scouting her out for you I'd ask her out myself. Her eyes, oh, they're these warm chocolate things. Lovely girl, and I introduce myself, find out a little bit about them, turns out they're sisters but anyway I got her name and---"

"Indeed Abraham, why don't you ask out this charming woman for yourself? I am certainly not in the right frame of mind to entertain the notion at present."

"I'm doing you a favour," Abraham frowns. "Anyway, her's names Abbie---"

"Mills. Grace. Abigail. Mills," and that is when Ichabod suddenly starts resembling a living thing as he turns and kicks the wall with each word, slamming his fist into the door to illustrate a point and splitting his knuckles in the process.

"Whoa! whoa whoa whoa! Hey! " Abraham pushes him out the way to observe the damage Crane has done. "What the hell was that for? and---Ichabod you come back here while I yell at you!" 

But Ichabod has already retreated to his room and the door slams with absolute finality. "Oh for the love of---" and Abraham thunders down the hall and bangs demandingly on the door. There is no way they're ending the day the same way they did last night. "You open this door! You open this door right now so help me and tell me why you just punched a hole in my front door and when you're gonna replace it." he grabs the knobs and jostles it angrily. "Crane! I am not beyond kicking this door down!"

"For a man so troubled over the state of his front door to instantly threaten the state of another one is odd behaviour indeed," he hears Crane mutter on the other end and Abraham growls and storms off.

Inside Ichabod slowly and methodically removes his wet clothes, gingerly puts his books away, tsks at the wrinkled state of his scarf, smoothing it out before folding it very neatly and putting it away. He's started for the shower when he hears the unmistakable buzz of power tools, he glances suspiciously at the door knob, but it's the screws on the door itself that fall out, pinging to the floor before Abraham heaves the door out of his way. Ichabod splutters in disbelief. 

"You were right, why give myself two doors to fix when I can just calmly remove one." 

"Abraham this is an invasion of privacy!" he declares, knotting his robe tightly. 

"And I call that property damage, incredible hulk"

"Pardon?"

"You. Ichabod angry, Ichabod smash things that DON'T BELONG TO HIM"

Like lives, Ichabod thinks dimly. Like hearts. His shoulders begin to shudder and then he sinks down on the bed. Abraham stares at him, bewildered by the erratic change from confrontational to vulnerable and approaches slowly, as if he thinks a sudden movement would spook his best friend. And with Ichabod Crane, it's highly likely. Here we go again, Abraham thinks to himself before taking a deep breath.

"First off, sounds like you've met her before?"

"Hah!" Crane snorts. "Hah hah hah hah" and he descends into maniacal laughter. 

"Ichabod?"

Crane sniffles and straightens. "Do you have a gun, Abraham? I'd like to shoot myself," 

*****************************  
February 2013

Crane watches Katrina's eye close and clenches his eyes shut. She too, is now lost to him. It's not lost on Ichabod that he has been nothing short of a destructive storm in both Abbie's and Katrina's lives. 

That had he ever possessed the ability to tell either of them his truth, a great deal of heartache might have been spared. But he hadn't chosen them, in the end. Faced with Katrina's cold, still face, it is clear to him that even when he'd chosen her, he hadn't chosen Katrina at all. He'd chosen himself. Chosen to protect himself from the part of him that he feared, and yet still had failed to keep locked away. There had been nothing but casualties in Crane's life. Nothing but love that had died and betrayed. 

He watches the colour drain away from her, feels her hand turning to ice in his. He regrets.

He regrets the life he traded in order to give Katrina one full of pain. He sits there in silence, losing track of time. He unplugged the monitor to silence it's shrieking alarm when she had breathed her last. They only discover that Katrina has passed when they come around in the evening for dinner. The nurse regards him warily as she comes in with the tray, takes in the scene, Katrina dead, the machine disconnected, him sitting in the corner. She looks frightened. He thinks to bare his teeth at her and snarl, like the feral thing he feels like inside. Instead he watches her with calm eyes, he doesn't speak. She quickly backs out of the room with the tray, presumably to declare that she thinks Mr. Crane has murdered his wife. He sits there a moment, waiting to hear thundering foot falls and accusatory voices. Her assumption isn't wrong. 

He has killed her. 

Slowly, over many years.

He rises from the seat, taking his coat with him and walks out of the room, slinging his arm through the sleeves as he walks. 

"Mr. Crane!" a voice chimes after him but he doesn't stop, keeps walking, his feet carrying him further and faster, but the voice persists. "Mr. Crane!" and then there are foot steps, jogging to catch up and when a hand latches on his arm he flings them off with too much force. Too much anger, and the nurse crashes into the wall, making a surprised sound as her back connects and she slumps. He gapes at her, head lolled forward and groaning as another nurse rushes to her aid. That's when they come for him. That's when he wakes up.

Arms lock around his. Security. He's hoisted off the ground, he flails, he kicks, he curses, he rambles, rants and a blow strikes true and they drop him for a second and he is running, lunging down the hall, pitching people out of his way. He is chaos. He is spiralling. An alert goes off and the door at the end of the hall locks, slamming shut in his face just as he reaches for it, his head smashes into the door as a body collides with him from behind, dragging him up by his collar, he keeps fighting, he'll go down fighting. His knees hit tile and he keeps struggling as his arms get locked behind him, he keeps rolling, biting. 

Later they will call it grief. Later they will call it a psychotic break. 

He keeps screaming in anguish as they sedate him. 

Her doesn't speak during her funeral. His voice for all intents and purposes, vanished the day she died and he screamed himself hoarse at the hospital. He has not spoken since. His voice is a frightful clawing choking sound when he opens his mouth. He's convinced it's the monster waging war within him, trying to take over. He swats away consoling hands and turns a deaf ear to concerned voices. He picks up the shovel first at the grave site, heaving the first mound of in her grave. Burying her again, the way he did with his baggage. Afterwards he hands the shovel off and storms from the grave, dashing tears from his eyes and releasing a feral roar when Abraham tries to catch up to him. He had been a good friend and had come immediately when he had heard---not from Crane himself, Ichabod had had to ask Katrina's father to call him---he is there as moral support for his friend, beast, whatever this tumultuous shell of a thing is that has gone mute and communicates only grunts and grumbles. He has come to help Ichabod clear away both his and Katrina's things. He listed the house for sale the first chance he got when he was released from the hospital himself. He wants nothing to do with who he was and has been. He means to move forward, though be it as man or monster, Abraham can't be sure.

"I think you should see a grief counsellor," he suggests the next morning when he catches Ichabod leaning perilously out of a window. Crane looks askance at him over his shoulder before heaving himself up and over the ledge.

It takes him two months to recover from the fall. 

March-April 2013

Abraham is left sifting through their pasts then. Sweeping away the debris of a stormy marriage, deciding what to salvage and what to throw away. Although he's sure if left to his own devices Ichabod might have just lit the house on fire. 

It's slow work. They'd made a home of sorts, amidst the chaos. There are pictures and trinkets and baubles, things of sentimental value, Katrina amassed an impressive amount of memorabilia. Ichabod however. 

Some journals that he doesn't deign to open. A photo album, which he similarly leaves alone. His belongings aren't laden with memories and anchored in the hopeful creation of a forever, like Katrina's. His things are neat and tidy and ready to move at a moments notice. Like someone who has been planning to flee. 

Whether it had been life or his marriage Abraham couldn't tell you.

Probably both.


	13. Breaking the Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham exhibits concern over Crane's well being. A flash back to when Crane started seeing a doctor for his silence/anger/grief issues. (Crane's piling up alot of issues)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Doctor Henry Parish.

July 2015

Abraham freezes, letting the words soak in. He eases himself down onto the bed next to him, tentatively rests a hand on his shoulder. "Should, should I call Doctor Parish?"

Crane makes a disgruntled sound. "I haven't seen Parish in over a year."

"You haven't threatened to do yourself bodily harm in over a year," Abraham counters, and his eyes water, because he remembers more vividly than he would like what the moment in time had been like. That first time when he had seen his best friend casually launch himself out the second story window, the image of him on the pavement before the ambulance arrived. Cradling his head in his lap while he had waited. The absolute fear of that moment. The long struggle that followed in even getting Crane to interact with him again on a personal level. He knows this road leads to a dark destructive place, and he cannot bear to watch Crane walk it. Not again. Not on his watch.   
"What happened?" 

*********************************  
Ichabod Crane: May 2013

Abraham sits in the living room of the new townhouse that Crane is renting. He tries to explain to the doctor that came so highly recommended to them about Crane's anger issues, his depression and recent attempt to take his life---or cripple himself---it's unclear.

"His marriage was not always, smooth sailing. His father abusive, I cannot say for sure if he ever hit him but he was very hard on him and---" he cuts off abruptly and rises to his feet as Crane appears in the doorway. He leans heavily on a crutch under his left arm, and his right hand still remains in a type of splint, beneath his shirt he wears a brace around his ribs. His hair hangs limply at the side of his face, his mouth set in a grim frown, one eyebrow raises in question. Abraham flusters for a second at his friends grouchy, gloomy presence. "Doctor Parish, Mr. Ichabod Crane, Ichabod, Doctor Henry Parish," he says, introducing them both. 

Doctor Parish temples his fingers and studies the image of Crane in the doorway, he considers him with a soft, curious smile curling his mouth. They stare each other down before Parish concedes and rises to his feet. "A pleasure, Mr. Crane," he greets, offering Ichabod his hand. Crane looks down at the extended hand as if it is a foreign thing and then levels his stony gaze on Parish's wrinkled face. Parish frowns at him and walks back to his chair. "Please, have a seat,"

Crane considers snapping at the ridiculous notion of being invited to a seat in his own residence, but restrains himself. He has carried on in silence so long he is ashamed to admit he thinks he may have forgotten the proper use of words. Instead, he ambles slowly, painfully into the room, silently accepting Abraham's help as he settles him in a chair.

"Mr. Van Brunt tells me you've taken an oath of silence," Parish says lightly, as if it is the most amusing and charming act of defiance that Crane has gone mute. 

I hate him. Crane decides then. It is perhaps the clearest most concise thought he has had throughout the listless days of recovery. When Abraham and the nurses poked and prodded and forced him to his feet, encouraging him even when he fought---it showed strength if he fought--he had wanted nothing more than for them to leave him be. Lying prone and separate. His mind had been a foggy blur of waking and dreaming. Even since he had moved into the town house, he'd moved through it like a ghost. He hadn't been reading, hadn't been watching the television. He had disengaged entirely in every way he could manage. Up until the appearance of this unwelcome doctor, Crane had pretty much convinced himself that he had stopped thinking or feeling anything. But the visceral dislike he feels for this man watching him patiently, curiously, as if he is merely a rather peculiar animal at the local zoo, it makes him bite his lips together tighter, and he glares daggers at the man. Already a bad sign, he thinks, even as it happens, that the mere appearance of this man is making him feel anything at all. That the first emotion to answer the call to rise is angry and contemptuous. He imagines it will only be a matter of time before he swings his crutch at Parish's head. 

"What inspired this self inflicted penance?" he prods, leaning forward with great interest. Crane continues to stare at him, no intention of speaking. He will not. His silence has quieted thoughts and the haunting feelings of grief and regret, leaving nothing but a hollowness that while is an empty existence, is at the very least a quiet one. A void, a chasm that deep down within lurks the howling uninhibited creature. It slumbers in his silence. So Crane will not, does not speak. Speaking means waking things up. "Mr. Crane?"

Abraham clears his throat. "He has been like this since Katrina passed," he offers helpfully, hopefully. He grew up with angry Crane, knows the extent of his friends issues with his temper, but he does not know this retreated silent thing that slinks around like a snake, appearing like a spectre. At this point, an outburst from Crane would be welcome, anger at least mean he's fighting, that some part of him is still living. Not this haunted half dead being Crane seems determined to become. 

"How about some associations?" Parish asks what might as well be thin air for all the response Crane is giving him. Parish exchanges a glance with Abraham and then reaches into the box of things Abraham has procured for him. "Your friend, Mr. Van Brunt, is very concerned of your well being Ichabod. He says you are close friends," he rifles through the box and withdraws a picture Abraham has of the two when they were children, and another after they had graduated high school. He shows them to Crane who's eyes scan over them quickly, but makes no comment. "He says that he sought to get you help when your anger issues got in your way," he shows another picture now, this one of Crane's father. A sick feeling like betrayal coils in Crane's stomach. His gaze ticks slightly, imperceptibly toward Abraham, and it's only a second, but the fleeting moment of guilt skitters across Abrahams' features. 

Crane had never kept pictures of his father. Abraham had obviously been in contact with Ichabod's family. He thought it was a cruel thing to provoke the image of his father before him, and again mentally kicked himself for feeling a reaction. Still, he is schooled in masking these things, in stomping down the lid on top of the thing bubbling up inside of him. 

Parish regards him with interest, glancing first at the picture in his hand, then back at Crane. "Your father had expectations of you, didn't he"

Crane picks a blank spot on the wall and stares at it. 

"Strict rules that he expected to be followed. Ideals to be met." he pauses, considering his words carefully. "And….consequences when they weren't, true?"

This is abuse, he thinks. This is some gross unsympathetic unethical breach of his mental state, this man is nothing more than a bully trying to get a rise out of him trying to make him unleash the beast, and he'll be sorry if he succeeds, Crane knows. He'll be very sorry indeed. 

"Did you always meet expectations Ichabod? have you always done what was expected of you? With family? with friends?" there's something about the way Parish puts emphasis on the word 'friends' that makes Crane's skin crawl. The fingers of his left hand twitch, and the doctors eyes latch onto the movement like a laser. He meets Crane's gaze, a brow raised. "Are you prone to fidgeting, Mr. Crane? is that a nervous habit? something you do when uncomfortable?"

Crane wills himself to be still, setting his jaw. 

"When angry?" 

He thinks that if Abraham looks over at him one more time he will throw his crutch like a javelin. 

"When sad? when you've, disappointed someone?" there it is again, that weighted heavy stress he put on words, hinting and wheedling at Crane. He squirms. Damn this. he curses when he sees a small smile flit across Parish's face. "Did you disappoint your mother? your father? your wife?" he reaches into that damnable box again and withdraws a picture of the two on their wedding day. He doesn't need to look at Abraham to know Abraham is avoiding his gaze in shame. "She looks happy here, you seem rather, sad, Mr. Crane,"

No. Yes. The wild temper hisses at him. Yes. No. Crane insists, swallowing hard, not caring that Parish notices the movement. Stand down you wicked thing. 

What you need, Crane, that beast taunts, is to stand up. Crane shakes his head, clearing the warring voices from his mind. 

"No? you were not sad?"

A sound escapes him, a guttural sound of irritation. Parish's brows rise in surprise. He looks over his shoulder at Abraham with a grin. "Why, that sound almost sounded as if it had intent, didn't it? like a protest?" he turns back to Crane. "Tell me," he says, leaning back with a self satisfied look on his face. " Did you love your wife?" 

"Ichabod no!" Abraham exclaims. 

The crutch is swung too quickly for Abraham to stop him, Parish keels over to the floor, glasses knocked askew. Yes. The beast chants. Yes. Yes. YES. 

July 2013

In spite of the walloping Crane had first bestowed on him, Parish returned the following week. And after. The visits became twice a week, then three, increasing in frequency until he was seeing that impossible Henry Parish every single, cursed day. 

Every meeting he drove Crane to his brinks, it was some time back in early June that Crane, having flown into a rage had roared at him to get his "Unbelievably creepy satisfied prim puss face out of his home and don't come back lest I cram my foot up your----" Parish had hastily retreated then, dodging the book that flew past his head and out the front door. Only after the door had slammed shut did Crane realize he had spoken. Abraham had been eavesdropping in the kitchen, emerging at the sound of the commotion and then had gaped at him.

"You spoke," he said in awe. Crane rolled his eyes. "Ichabod, you, you SPOKE" throwing his arms around him, stifling him, and choking Crane had swatted and protested at his stupid excitement. 

"Abraham! Put me DOWN!"

September 2013

They'd gotten through all of August with Crane expressing his feelings and anger without trying to murder Parish.

The second week of September however he over turned the table and threatened to steep Parish's nether parts for tea. 

December 2013

He survived the holidays at home, among his family, without incident, without biting his tongue, without entertaining the idea of carving up his father instead of the turkey. It hadn't all been pleasant, and his forthrightness had rubbed his father the wrong way by the end of the night, ending in a request to leave, but Crane had gone peaceably, having expressed his feelings without throwing a punch.

January 2014

"You've made progress, Mr. Crane," Parish nods as he writes in his notebook. "What do you think about these days?"

"Tomorrows." Crane replies. "Tomorrows in which I can learn and change," 

Parish smiles. "Very good," 

***************************

July 2015

"Ichabod I am begging you,"

"Don't call Parish," Crane says. "Please, let….let me see if I can handle this on my own," 

Abraham refrains from saying: Because that worked out so well for you the last time. Instead he says "You just asked me if I have a gun, Ichabod,"

"I know what I damning well asked!" he snaps. Breathe. Breathe. Calm. There, easy does it. 

"Tell me about her,"

"What?" Crane asks, his heart beating too fast. 

"Why did her name upset you so much?"

"I hurt her. In the worst, worst conceivable way." Crane says, staring off into nothingness. He thinks of Tomorrows.

'In which I can learn and change.' He's said that once, he wonders if after everything he's learned today, if he still believes it. 

He clears his throat. "I need to try to make amends. To atone for what I have done. She may never forgive me, but I cannot have peace if I don't try."

Abrahams mind flashes back to Abbie at coffee with her sister, the bubbly beautiful woman that had seemed so glowing and carefree and tried to imagine a world in which she and Crane had already met, had shared a history, a world in which Crane would hurt such a creature---and was sad to discover it wasn't such a hard thing to imagine, after all. Crane had a penchant for destruction. Something tells him this crusade can only end in disaster for all parties involved, but because he loves Ichabod like a brother he nods once. "Okay. Alright. I….I support you....in this. If it will help you heal."


	14. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie present day, her fears, dynamics with men.

Present day July 2015

"Anyway, lover boy called while you were out and said to get dressed, we're going for dinner and then stopping by for coffeehouse night," Jenny says, rising from the bed and rummaging through Abbie's closet. 

Abbie fights back a tired sigh. All she wants after the day she's had is to face plant in the bed and pretend today didn't happen. Not to mention that she doesn't know how she'll explain to him she's lost the ring. If only he'd listened and----of course! she's getting it sized! She, she took it to the jeweller after realizing it was too loose and it's getting sized, she should have it back in a week, she'll say, the solution is so simple it's wonder she didn't think if it immediately, all she'll have to do is find it within that time frame. Abbie will buy another one if she has to. 

****************************  
Andy Brooks: July 2013

She hasn't grabbed a bite or strolled around on the beat with Andy in two months, mostly because they've been split to patrol different areas, and Andy's taken a vacation. He thinks he and Abbie are at a good place, at the very least a far better place than he ever dreamed. The fact that he can manage coherent conversation around her and hear her laugh is a giant triumph in and of itself. In spite of this, however, he's too nervous still to ask for more. He has yet to get up the courage to grab her hand firmly in his though the moment had risen on numerous occasions. He hasn't taken the initiative to set up something proper, and clear intentioned, and is ignoring the impending threat that if he doesn't make up his mind, if he doesn't put himself on the line, he's going to miss his window of opportunity. He doesn't know it, but for the past three years he's been the only one truly in the running, building the friendship, laying the foundation, forming the trust. If he would just go all in----but he can't help but imagine that Abbie will recoil from him if he kisses her. He opts to test the water before going on vacation, there's a family reunion happening in Hawaii. As he gathers his things Abbie comes up behind him and hands him a bottle of sunscreen. It's an inside joke between them that he favours a heavy resemblance to a lobster when caught in the sun.

"Golden brown, well done, red and you're over cooked Brooks," she smiles, she claps him on the shoulder and gives his collar a playful tug. He could do it now, he thinks, a swift peck and nothing more, they're at work, she'll be too stunned to react, too professional to exclaim in surprise. But then, they're at work, surely someone will notice and then it would spread like wildfire and he knows how she hates gossip, how she'll have hated having that decision whether or not to declare a relationship taken from her. Besides he's done very poorly at declaring they're in a relationship even to her. "Have fun," she encourages when she notes that his face seems stuck in a strange expression of mid thought. 

"Thanks Abbie," he whispers, and then snatches up her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "I'll think of you when I use it," it's only after he's said the words that the subtext becomes clear to his own ears and he flushes crimson. Abbie gapes at him a moment before reeling back from him in surprised laughter. Oh, but his embarrassment is worth it. "I didn't mean---" he adds hurriedly. She waves her hands dismissively, still laughing, bracing herself on a knee. Some of the officers have turned to look but all they see is Lieutenant Mills cracking up---nothing so remarkable about that----and they go back to work. 

"You do that Brooks," she chortles as she walks away. "Take lots of pictures!"

***************************  
Abbie Mills: July 2013

Orion and Abbie have kept in touch since the previous summer. Their….ahem…..duet, of last July seemed to warrant a more insistent rapport, strangely friendly and too flirtatious. A lot of retreating on Abbie's end because if she lets Orion have his way he'll have her on top of the music charts if not on top of him. Yet, they have a connection. An addictive strange little buzzing thing that draws her back now, a year later, to meet him for lunch. She shows up in uniform although she let's her hair down and applies a fresh coat of lipstick. She walks calmly through town, quick steps to her destination. She muses on Andy's lips to the back of her hand and rubs at it, feeling oddly guilty. Her and Andy aren't involved, she assures herself. 

But you have been spending time together for the past three years, blares a part of her brain. 

But we haven't done anything, she retorts. 

But you trust him, have dinner, joke around.

We're friends. Abbie asserts, taking a moment to sit on a park bench and holding her head in her hands. 

You were 'friends' with him too, her memory unkindly reminds her, and look how THAT turned out. That's not being fair Abbie knows, it's not fair of her to start comparing every friendship or relationship she has with that of Ichabod Crane. She cannot punish every man who might be afraid of commitment---but truly Andy is just afraid she'll hurt him in the end---she cannot make every man whose nature it is, or whose career might command that they wander---Calvin will always chase a story, it's his livelihood, Orion will go where the muse leads him. 

They would stay, were she to ask.

Unlike that revolting man who has unwittingly set the standard in Abbie's mind, if she asked them, if she dared peer into their eyes and touched their cheeks and whispered simply the word, they would. But Abbie also cannot stand the possibility of being a burden. A thing that they trade their happiness for. Cannot bear to watch them go, and live on edge wondering, wondering---for how many days after her miscarriage did she check the mail three times a day, her email five times more, hoping for a word from him?---Abbie can't picture herself saying farewells at airports, hearts on sleeves, strong embraces or warm kisses with fragile hopes, waiting, waiting, waiting. Pins and needles to hear news from Calvin when he's abroad. Poring over magazines to see which celebrity Orion is carousing with. 

No.

Abbie cannot imagine being THAT girl. Ever again. 

Maybe the solution is simple, go with them, Jenny would say. Live a little. Travel and never look back. But there is so much anchoring Abbie to Sleepy Hollow, so many bits and pieces of herself remain here. 

Summer 2001

Jenny and Abbie have always been thick as thieves. Two halves of a whole. Always together, joined at the hip. Where one went the other would follow. Their mother had taken great pride in the strength of her daughters bond. She felt with every fibre of herself that they would be able to face any and all hardships the world might give them as long as they had each other.

However, she had never anticipated that Jenny and Abbie might differ in the way they handle grief. 

The shock of their mother's death had brought Abbie to her knees, Jenny similarly. All Abbie had wanted was to crawl into their mother's bed and weep and weep and weep, inhaling mama's scent from her pillow, twining herself in the blankets. All Jenny had wanted was air, to breathe, to not be assaulted by fresh waves of grief and memory everywhere she turned. Abbie sought to absorb everything left of their mother, to simulate closeness. Jenny had chosen to distance herself, she had cried so much she feared she'd dehydrate. Where grief might have united them there grew a divide. Abbie thought Jenny was being cold. Jenny thought Abbie was only seconds away from digging up their mother's grave and throwing herself in. Abbie asserted that embracing what was left, committing it all to memory would help them both heal. Jenny defended that they needed to get away, to have time to appreciate life--it's what mama would have wanted. Abbie just couldn't bring herself to leave. Jenny couldn't bring herself to stay.

The untimely death of their mother had felt like a robbery in and of itself. 

The departure of Jenny, gripping her sisters hand and locking her arms around her tight---had felt like being torn in two. 

Perhaps this is when Abbie began developing a complex of fears of her own. Fear of getting too close, loving too much, being too dependable, only for that person to go away, be it of their own accord or not. 

2001-2005

Feeling bereft, it had been too easy to get too close to Ichabod Crane. So simple to distract from her grief and the empty room at home that belonged to her sister, that familial void, by filling it with her best, closest, strangest friend. And yet, always with a little trepidation, watching him leave, wondering if he would leave her behind too, and the absurd relief she felt when he would return in the fall. 

She had had inklings, back then, maybe, on his part, there might have been something more. 

Certainly, when he had been muttering his desperate pleas and the confusion of his heart--when she had shut her eyes tight and forced herself to sleep, tuning him out, it had been clear then. But her fear of getting too close, too enraptured, had made a feigned slumber a real one without any effort on her part at all.

When she had sat in the doctors office, waiting, thumbs twiddling, to this day, Abbie couldn't tell you what she had hoped for from the result. She was called in, the doctor came in moments later, treading softly and levelling her gaze with Abbie across the room and had said, very carefully and deliberately, "Congratulations Miss Mills, you're pregnant" there had been a pause in which perhaps the doctor expected Abbie to go into hysteric tears, to freak out and maybe start examining procedures to terminate---but Abbie had sat still for a moment, inhaled deeply with her eyes closed and nodded. 

Laurel, if a girl. she had thought. Icarus, if a boy. A child. She had placed her hand on her own belly, marvelling at how something that then had seemed to silly, so confidential, could yield something new now, something that would grow, and she would raise them and love them and one day they would leave too, she knows that, but by then she might be old enough not to feel the sting of it anymore. 

Crane would be a great father.

By the time she thought it, by the time she realized she had assumed he would stay, had every confidence he would---it was clear she had made a mistake---she'd done the thing she had sworn she wouldn't, gotten too close, too dependable, too trusting and sure of Ichabod Crane.

And of course the moment she had let herself do it, she'd paid the price. 

July 2015

The house holds memories, memories of the Mills women making breakfast together and movie nights and love love love and certainty that Abbie hasn't dared feel about anyone since. Even though she knows, she KNOWS Jenny didn't abandon her---there wasn't a week when they hadn't spoken---she'd still felt a little lost while she'd been away. And then when she had come home, when Abbie had been ready to make up for the lost years apart and pick up where they left off, she'd come back with a human sized souvenir in Nick Hawley. Abbie didn't grudge her for it though, couldn't and would never, but amidst all of the excitement of her return and getting use to having a man wandering intermittently throughout the house and running into Orion and embarking on that musical project……the timing had never seemed right to divulge it. 

She'd never tell Orion this, because it would swell his damn head, but those times in the studio had been a sort of therapy. A place where she could say it without saying it. Cry without the tears. He knew her in a deep way that he couldn't possibly understand, because through music, she had told him things, not directly, not clearly, she'd never told him what had inspired any of it. But he was the closest to knowing that Abbie was dealing with pain, and had helped her fight through it. He had seen her wail and thrash in the studio, cry happy reminiscent tears, cry sad reminiscent ones. 

So maybe that's the foundation of the energy between them. She likes that connection, that odd crackling spark. But not enough to leave behind Sleepy Hollow.

The house holds memories, of nights when she clung to her mothers belongings, all of the things that still reside there, clustered and crowded out by strange decorations and artifacts---thank you for that Hawley----of evenings, afternoons and nights with Crane, poring over assignments, marathons, and of course that one time. There is still a strange happiness when she remembers before the pain. And even the pain of those things, made her strong. The house holds all of the jagged edges and pretty trinkets that has shaped Abbie. Sleepy Hollow holds the streets she walked, the people she smiled at, the unwitting kindnesses and people and moments that got her through. Sleepy Hollow has been her battle field where she has fought her demons and the scourge of society, ensuring the safety of others. It is her base camp, it is her fortress, she has a role and place here. 

When others left she stayed. 

She grieved.

She walked, breathed, took it all in and lived.

She struggled.

She survived.

Abbie Mills grew strong.

Abbie won't admit it out loud, but she's afraid weakness will claim her should she ever leave it.


	15. Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring, those other blokes.

Abbie Mills: July 2013

Abbie shakes her head to clear it and rises off the bench, striding towards the hotel where Orion is staying. She nods at reception and is about to walk into the hall when she hears a chuckle behind her. She turns around and takes the person in, Abbie cocks her head to the side. "Ry?"

"Didn't even recognize me, huh." Orion rises to his feat, in his polished crisp suit, hair all neat and groomed, shoes gleaming.

"Sell out," she teases, folding her arms and Orion holds out his arms and turns on the spot. 

"What do you want me to do, turn the money away?"

"You turn down artists who don't meet your standards all the time,"

"Not you," he says and Abbie smiles to herself. "I let you go, but I never turned you down. Let me say this for the thousandth time, if you ever want to get back to work--" 

She holds a hand up. "We're here to catch up on old times."

"No business talk, got it," He says shrugging off his coat and then rolling up his sleeves. 

"Hey, is that a new tat?" she asks, peering at his arm, when she gets close enough she wishes she hadn't asked. There are flowers and vines creeping and twining around the smooth dark skinned back of a woman, her long hair is pushed to one side, with a pronounced red kiss placed over a wound on the woman's shoulder. Abbie would turn chalk white were it possible. "That's not….."

"'Chip off your shoulder' was a HIT," he stresses. "Why wouldn't I want to commemorate it?" 

But with an ebony woman on your arm? she nearly asks. It's not me, she repeats to herself. That is NOT supposed to resemble me in some way. She catches Orion watching her wickedly, but it's Orion, and he would, be it out of stupidity or pride, he WOULD do something like that and think it flattering. And it's a gorgeous design, to be honest. She just wishes she didn't have to have lunch with him while there was a glaring reminder of their last encounter watching her. "Do you like it?" he asks.

Abbie's about to tell him no, just because, but she's never lied to him before, and much to her own dismay, she IS sort of flattered. But she can't admit defeat either. "Stop fishing," she says instead, swatting his arm, not protesting when he locks an arm around her waist and they saunter into the dining room. 

And this is okay, she says to herself. As long as we never get any closer than this he won't ask for more, and I won't have to watch him leave, and we won't lose this. 

"They still get a good turnout for coffeehouse these days?"

"Yes," she answers slowly, picking at her salad. "Why….."

"Lot of untapped talent around here….I've been thinking of launching a show,"

"I thought we said no work talk,"

Orion claps his hands and leans toward the table, drinking from his glass. "You're right, you're right. So. Tell me about you. Seeing anyone," he coughs lightly, "Special?"

Abbie raises a brow at him. "Even so, do you really wanna know?"

"Regardless of what I want, I'm your friend Abbie. I will be there for you. Wouldn't be a good friend otherwise," 

A more delicate woman might have swooned. 

Abbie bobs her head once in understanding and grips his hand across the table.

***************************  
Andy Brooks: August 2013

By the time Andy got back, Abbie's ship had sailed. He is worn out from his flight but he still reaches to call her as he flops down on the bed. A strange thing, a bold thing, because Andy has always allowed their hanging out to be coincidental and convenient. He's had her number all this time but he's never dialled. It means something, that the first voice he wants to hear when he gets back is hers. But she'll never know that. At 8 o'clock tonight she was already meeting Calvin Riggs for drinks. 

He meets Calvin by accident, some two weeks later as he saunters in casually, wearing a grin and leaning on the door frame, gazing at Abbie for what must be eons before approaching her at her desk from behind and whispering something that's only for the two of them. He schools his expression into one of neutrality as Abbie says goodnight and leaves on Calvin's arm. 

*****************************  
Abbie Mills: September 2013

"Are you still a good friend?" she asks. She hears Orion's soft chuckle on the other end.

"Oh no, is my dear Angry Abbie off the market?"

"I'm not 'your' anything," she laughs. 

Orion sighs, "No," he agrees. "No you don't belong to anyone,"

*********************************  
Calvin Riggs: January 2014

Abbie knows how to say goodbyes by now. So letting Calvin leave doesn't hurt so much. She doesn't see him to the airport. Gives him a warm embrace on his doorstep before he gets in the cab. She waves as he goes, wishing him the best. Maybe she blows a kiss too, because that's one of those frivolous, heartfelt things people do, and she's never been sound of mind enough during a goodbye to be just that. She's always crying to grieving or having some painful internal war wrought with worry and trepidation. Calvin had been something only mildly more potent than her excursions with Brooks. But nothing more committed. If she'd ever let Calvin start that conversation, it might have been deeper, but why tamper with the casual, easy, simple thing they had? Abbie knows Calvin, she can see it in his eyes. He wants to see the world and tell of it, he's a storyteller in his way, and she knows his heart better than he. He'll want what ever opportunity that comes, though he'd stay if she asked. But Abbie knows herself. She cannot let someone turn away from who they are. 

In a way, for the first time letting him go is a sort of relief. He's being true to himself at least. The leaving, the going away is predictable. But it's the fact that it suits him, not because Calvin is a cold hearted brute or running away, but because Calvin chases things, and she likes to see him do that, chasing after his aspirations. He'll forgive her for not begging him to stay, she knows. He'll forgive her for not making a passionate farewell scene.

Because while he knows he'd have stayed had she asked, Abbie is aware of the fact that he never asked her to leave. 

**********************************  
Andy Brooks: February 2014

Abbie is not surprised by the chocolates on her desk this year, it's a friendly routine of theirs now. She looks up from her desk. "Happy Valentines day Brooks, thanks,"

Andy blushes, she's always thought it something of a marvel to see a man blush and he says, "Happy Valentines. Wanna grab something to eat on your break?" he asks casually. Abbie stretches like a cat and rises from her desk.

"Sure,"

They stroll out in companionable silence, just as they were before the Riggs Interlude. Andy could make grand gestures now. He could tell her how seeing her with Riggs had gnawed at him. And yet. They settle into old patterns.

Old habits, die hard.  
*****************************

Luke Morales: April 2014

"Are you sure you're alright?" Morales asks post the ink incident. 

"Stop breathing all my air would you?" she shuffles around the desk away from him. Abbie's never thought much of Luke before, but yesterday, when he came after her, had asked how she was, there had been something in his eyes that she wasn't prepared to decipher. She knows the sparkle. She doesn't mean to be conceited but she has seen that look before and going by her track record with men it cannot bode well that Luke was looking at her that way then and still is now.

Honestly? she's terrified. 

Because he's bold enough to act on it, to use names and labels and make declarations. 

"I'll buy you tea after work, how's that?" she meets his gaze then, her mouth in a concentrated pout as she rifles through files. 

"Buy it now because we're going on the road," she announces, whacking him in the chest with the papers. 

"Yes sir Mills sir," Morales salutes and Abbie's facade cracks, she smiles. He smiles back, too warmly.

No, don't you dare. Abbie scolds herself as she strides from the room. 

She's in trouble now. 

Luke Morales' is settled here in Sleepy Hollow, no aspirations to leave it. He might actually stay.


	16. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of the future, because I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, nothing is as it seems.

Future: December 2020

It's Christmas time. Abbie fusses with the dinner plate setting, moving carefully around in her girth. She is in her last trimester and to say she is having difficulty manoeuvring through their home is a vast understatement. Not to mention being mindful of the toddlers underfoot. Abbie's body had been greedy and eager to nurture new life. Even though she sometimes questions if her mental capacity is up to the task of this for another eighteen years. They're hosting the holiday dinner this year, which had seemed like a fine agreement before Abbie remembered she would be preparing dinner. She'd have asked her husband to help but this time of year is always busy for him, and she understand, both being in the same line of work, they understand that sometimes there are sacrifices to be made, it's how they handle them that matters. Besides, he did promise to rush home as soon as he is able. Just as Abbie arranges the candles she hears the door slam, followed by a chorus of "Daddy! Daddy!" 

"Ah my little sugar plums," she hears him coo and she smiles to herself as she waddles out to greet him. When her eyes meet his she falls in love with him all over again. She remembers the utter chaos, the disaster, the wild choices, and how worth it, all of it has been. 

She'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Considering the life she's lead, that's saying something.

************************************  
Present day July 2015

"Yoohoo, Abs, I asked what are you going to wear?"

Abbie groans. "You pick," when she looks over her shoulder she sees Jenny rubbing her hands together evilly. "Oh I'm going to regret that aren't I."

Jenny hums merrily as she starts pulling out garments. Abbie winces, she has some doubts on how well some of these outfits still fit. 

"Oh, I just think it's fair that you give him a little competition tonight, that's all. Remind him you're a wanted woman. That he's lucky you had a lapse in judgement,"

"You're awful," 

"Only because I love you," Jenny counters with a smile. "Are you positive you're okay?" she says settling an arm across Abbie's shoulder. 

"Still recovering from the sight of naked Hawley," she retorts. Jenny rolls her eyes and swats her. 

"Hey, where's your ring?"

"Getting it sized," she lies easily, something like shame running down her spine. She's never lied to Jenny. There are things she's never told her, true, but she's never lied. Besides which, Jenny is one of those people who would call it a sign that she'd lost it. 

And while Abbie's never believed in 'signs' before, she starts to irrationally fear them now.

******************************  
Luke Morales: May 2014

Luke tells her she needs to get out of the house and office a bit. Actually do something recreational. She wants to tell him she already does karaoke nights whenever she get the chance----but she doesn't. Her life changes in some unpredictable way whenever she opens her mouth around men. She hasn't decided if it's a magical spell or a curse. She shrugs. "Such as?"

Luke grins, "paint ball,"

That weekend Abbie and Luke dodge behind barricades and barriers and half formed fortresses yelling obscenely at the other while they take out their opponents. "Got him," Luke grins as he ducks back down next to Abbie. They are both huffing with exhilaration. Abbie's a hell of a shot with a gun, but she doesn't get to practice that unless theres danger, and a highly probable chance that she'll injure if not kill someone. The exhilaration she feels from pelting people with paint pellets is in this mock war scenario is amazing if not a little alarming. But it's also satisfying, hearing the mock cries and the declarations. "I am wounded!" some exclaim. "Comrade down!" they start to border on absurdly comedic, and she is laughing as she fires and ducks with Luke at her back.

"I needed this," she pants as they wait out a sudden lull in the activity. There's one more team out there and they gave as good as they got. "Thanks,"

"Ssh," Luke cautions her, peering around their wall. "Okay, now,now,now, move, move, move!" he pushes her gently in the back urging her to sprint and off she goes leaping through the open air. It's odd to take orders from Luke she thinks as she runs, but comforting in a way too. She's not one for macho man types, but she appreciates the confidence he has, even if he is only exhibiting it during a combat game. She hears his steps thundering behind her but then she hears his voice, too distant, and it's clear Abbie is being followed by their opponent. She whirls around, unloading a shot, taking them down and whoops in triumph moments before Luke tackles her to the ground and exchanges colourful fire with their other adversary who had been aiming at Abbie on top of a wall. They both go down and Abbie is left standing. She is triumphant. Laughing she helps Luke to his feet. 

"Can't believe you took one for me," she jokes, bumping him with her shoulder as they walk off the field. 

Luke grins, ruffling his hair. "I'd take a bullet for you anytime,"

"Course you would." she agrees, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. His eyes are dancing with mirth. He takes her paint gun and pack from her, slinging it over his shoulder. 

"In a heart beat." he winks. 

Abbie hangs back, hoping that Luke Morales isn't foolish enough to mean it.

Heaven help her, hoping that SHE isn't foolish enough to believe it. 

June 2014

When Captain Irving has his "First annual BAMF of Sleep Hollow Police force BBQ" Abbie reluctantly let's Jenny force her into a dress. She feels a little alien to them now, the work she does, zero practicality. But she can't say no to Jenny, no matter how strong the instinct. The Irvings have a lovely, normal home. Two stories, porch out front, sprawling backyard, two dogs and a somewhat reclusive, though sweet tempered daughter. 

Cynthia greets them at the door, warmly welcoming them in. Abbie and Jenny have known the Irvings for the past two years when Frank Irving was suddenly transferred to Sleep Hollow in 2012, and they fit right in, blended as if they'd been living there all their lives. As they stroll through the house Abbie is distracted by the sound of the most fantastic piano playing. "Is that Macey?" Abbie asks in disbelief. Cynthia nods proudly.

"It's her new piano teacher, he's brilliant. I invited him but he's got students coming out his ears. " Abbie whistles her approval as she pokes her head in the room, watching Macey's fingers seemingly float across the keys. 

"How long has she been playing?"

"Couple years, truth be told, but this new teacher sparked something in her. She lives for playing it now. Between you and me she might have a crush on him. I'm sure you've seen him around anyway, I'll point him out to you,"

"You do that. I might want lessons one day myself," 

"You? piano?" Luke saunters in behind them, clapping a hand on Abbie's shoulder. She expects her body to over react and rudely shrug him off. It picks that moment to surprise her and she holds still, feels herself lean back, just a tad and look over her shoulder at him. 

"Yeah, what of it Morales?"

"I'd just have to see it to believe it, that's all. Can't picture you being a performer,"

"I might surprise you one day,"

"Empty threats," he mutters, turning her away from the piano room and gripping her hand----the simple thing Andy could never manage----escorts her to the backyard.  
******************************

Orion Angel: July 2014

Abbie isn't quite how this became a routine, or even if Orion has noticed his tendency to return at the same time every year, but neither is unsettled enough to break their odd little tradition. When he calls, she checks that she doesn't have any conflicts for the day, shows up in her t-shirt, jeans, moto jacket and boots, her braided to the side because she's trying a little something new. They settle in at their table, order nachos to share and maybe more drinks than wise, but who's counting? No really, is anyone? 

Orion leans back skeptically in his chair at the bar they've agreed to meet at. "Luke Morales?" he sputters. "Isn't this the fool you said annoyed you to death?" 

"You come a close second, by the way," 

Orion smiles. "You know," he begins, leaning over the table, "If I had any idea that you don't mind mixing business with pleasure, I'd have made a huge move on you when we first met." 

"One day I'm going to be off limits for good and you're gonna have to stop flirting with me," Abbie warns gently. 

Orion gives her a sly grin. "Whoever the lucky man is had better have a strong heart and strong sense of self. Because Abbie," he rises from the table, comes around behind her and presses the softest kiss to her cheek. "I'll always flirt with you, it's the only thing you'll let me have. You wouldn't deprive me of that, would you?"

"I don't want to hurt your feelings Orion." she says, turning her head too quickly, not accounting for his proximity, and Orion swiftly presses his lips to hers. Gently teasing her mouth open, his hands caressing her face. He's not shy, Orion. He doesn't care how inappropriate this is, especially given she's just announced she's seeing someone. Lucky that it's late and there's almost no one at the bar anymore, save for the bartender who glances over once and goes back to cleaning his glasses. She's forgotten what his kiss feels like, the galloping wildness of it---but he's also become a dear friend to her over the years, if not an increasing emotional danger. When he draws away he rests his forehead against hers.

"Only thing that could hurt me is seeing you be unhappy. While I'd love nothing more, than to be the source of joy in your life, you and I both know how you are."

"What do you mean?" Abbie asks, defensive, still a little dazed. Orion smooths back her hair.

"I'm not still enough for you,"

Orion kisses her hair, pays the tab and walks out the bar, leaving Abbie in open mouthed shock, alone with her thoughts. 

********************************  
Present day July 2015

Abbie puts on the white fringe summer dress after she showers, leaving her hair down. Jenny wears a rose coloured crop top and a long white skirt. Abbie smiles fondly at their reflections in the mirror. "We're drop dead gorgeous," Jenny smirks.

"Yeah, we are." she twines her fingers with Jenny. "I wish she were here to see us now,"

Shocked, Jenny blinks rapidly. She had been thinking the same thing. "No, come on, none of that. I'll ruin my makeup," she looks up at the ceiling and fans her eyes, willing the surprised tears to roll back. Abbie giggles softly and embraces her sister. 

"Mama always said you don't need it,"

Jenny stares at her before her lips begin to tremble. "Damnit Abbie!" she grouches, moving away from her. "I told you not to make me cry!" she walks into the washroom and slams the door behind her. " I just got this damn cat eye right,"

Abbie gently knocks the door and lets herself in. "Here I'll fix it," 

"Damn right you're gonna fix it, got me crying before we head out the door," 

Abbie snickers, and Jenny glares at her before giggling too.

They don't have mama now, but they have each other. That will have to do.


	17. Moments II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiance reveal!
> 
> Cute moments. 
> 
> We are far from being out of the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super short, sorry! 
> 
> Longer better ones hopefully coming soon!

August 2014

They go to his place. A neat apartment downtown. Stainless steel appliances, leather furniture. It screams bachelor pad. Abbie knows it's unfair, but she runs comparisons in her mind to Calvin's place. Full of art work and cameras and always looking like he was in the middle of creating something. He'd lived in a townhouse, two stories, a home too big and with too much room for growth for a man who would scarcely be home to enjoy it. He'd been back in town since May and she hadn't known. Later, when circumstance forces them to interact again in an unconventional way, she'll learn that he'd already heard she'd moved on and hadn't wanted to start up any trouble. If only all men could have such good manners, she would think, and her mind would drift to Orion and the way they had left things last. They haven't so much as sent an email since back in July. It's just as well. Abbie isn't interested in complicating matters. 

This isn't a date night. This is a 'just got off the beat do you wanna come up for coffee?' night. They're both in uniform, still geared up with vests and guns from a robbery tonight and a standoff. Abbie takes her time removing the layers while Luke retreats to his room and comes back with what must be his pj shirt over his trousers. Her mouth quirks at the sight of him as he passes her, headed back to the kitchen. "Coffee? nope wait, I forgot, tea. Peppermint? oolong? chai? I also have a loose leaf one here---" The sight of Luke rummaging around in his cupboards, pulling down this box, and that package and tins of tea bags sends a familiar warmth spreading through her heart. It takes a moment to realize the image reminds her of Crane. Her first instinct is to erase the thought, don't bring the past into the present Mills---but, she herself has ever since developed a preference for it, has enjoyed discovering and trying new, unique, quirky blends. She won't hold this one, vague, insignificant similarity against Luke, she decides. Instead, she will let this set him apart. Luke is the man Crane could not, would not, ever be. He is the man still muttering and cursing to himself as he knocks over a tin and dried leaves and herbs go spilling across the floor. He's clumsy, her Luke. 

Oh.

Hers.

"You like tea huh?"

Luke glances over his shoulder at her and flushes. "Got a problem with that Mills?"

"Not at all," she says, taking in the chaos. "I have a collection of sorts myself," 

"We should have a tea party," he suggests and Abbie barks a laugh.

"You're so on," 

They drink the tea and when Abbie rises to leave his arms latch around her and he nuzzles her neck. "Don't go. Stay tonight, it's late. I can take the couch even," 

When Abbie agrees, he helps her out of her clothes and hunts around for one of his shirts and a pair of bottoms. "What a pretty picture," he says, appraising her. Abbie falls asleep with his arms around her, his lips touch her neck twice as he whispers goodnight. 

When Abbie bolts out of bed in dazed confusion Luke lays a hand on her shoulder. "You alright?" he asks, kissing her forehead. 

Abbie blinks and settles back into the blankets. "Yeah, thanks. Did you sleep well?" 

Luke grins down at her. "Like a baby,"

The following weekend they go to the park in jeans and t-shirt and have a tea party.

**************************************  
December 2014

It's not that Andy dislikes Luke, they're actually really great friends, but it's the fact that Luke seems to have stolen Abbie right out from under his nose which leaves a sour taste in his mouth and kindles desperation.

It's the annual Policeman's Holiday Ball. 

Abbie wears her straightened sleek hair down around her shoulders, and a simple, elegant black dress that highlights all of her curves. She wears red lipstick and earrings that sparkle, and the simplest pendant hangs on her throat, Luke bought it for her last month. She enters on his arm. This is their debut, in a way. People at the precinct have whispered and known for a while now, there's only so much you can hide in a small town police force, but this is the first time that Abbie and Luke are making a public, deliberate appearance together. Tonight is the first night that they declare to all who know them, 'This is who we are' as Luke kisses her upon entry, his eyes twinkling. 

After all of the time she spent being irritated with Luke, she's surprised how easy it has been to change gears. She is relieved that he is clear headed enough to make intentions clear and be sure enough of himself to act on what he feels. With an arm around her waist, they mingle among their co-workers. Somewhere in the room Abbie can hear singing, a baritone? tenor? crooning Christmas carols, and the sound is so lovely, his voice so warm, Abbie drifts towards the sound unwittingly when Luke tugs on her hand, pulling her towards another table. She is reluctant to go, captured still by the soloists voice, wishing she could tear away for just a moment to stand there and listen. 

Luke doesn't feel quite the same way about music that she does, she learned early on. It's background noise to him. It serves a purpose of course, a backdrop as he asks her to dance, sets the mood for quiet intimate moments. But creating? engaging? learning it? The prospect bores him to death. A time consuming hobby. He doesn't know how much music means to her, and she doesn't tell him. Abbie is comfortable enough with him now, not ever worrying, second guessing, or preparing herself for eventual partings, not holding herself back, that she doesn't want to ruin this. She doesn't think she could bear it if he laughed at the idea of her in a recording booth, even if it is her past. Luke doesn't know anything about who Abbie was and has been. Abbie is clean slate start fresh, like the fresh snow falling outside. 

Cynthia nudges her later when he excuses himself to talk to the other officers. "Did you see him?"

"Who?"

"Macey's piano teacher!" she whispers under her breath. 

"No…."

"He was the guy singing earlier. He's gone now, had another event to perform for, but didn't he sound great?"

"Amazing," Abbie says honestly. "He left?" and she feels oddly disappointed to hear it. Cynthia nods.

"He can barely keep still, I'm so glad you at least got to hear him though, he's mentioned maybe doing something solo one day," Cynthia confides. "It would be wonderful, because, that voice, but you know, Macey has a couple more years in her Royal Conservatory exams, if he could hold off on becoming a super star until then that would be ideal," she snickers and both women laugh. Cynthia checks to make sure no one is listening. "So, you and Morales eh?"

"They say never say never," 

"You're happy?"

"Enough,"

Cynthia frowns at the answer but Abbie suddenly feels hot and flees to an outdoor terrace. It's winter and there's snow and frost outside and she should have had the good sense to wear a wrap but the cold air is just what she needs to cool her head. Happy is a phantom concept, she thinks to herself. There are happy times, sure, happy moments, but happiness is not an enduring lasting thing. 

People wouldn't die if it were. 

Wouldn't leave. 

But she does have happy moments with Luke, warm, fuzzy, cozy, safe ones. 

Abbie stands out there, gazing at the stars until she hears steps behind her and she turns as Andy joins her. "Hey Brooks,"

"Mills," he greets her, chafing his hands together. "Aren't you cold?" he inquires. Abbie shrugs, tossing her hair. "I would be, wearing that dress,"he supplies.

"Oh," Abbie chortles. "Oh that's an image alright, let me savour that one," 

"Oh come on Abbie stop teasing me," he pouts at her, which only makes her laugh more but he's distracted by how cold he is. Abbie wipes a tear from her eyes and notices his fidgeting.

"Alright, come on frosty, let's get you inside," 

Just as they reach the door way, Andy grasps her hand and pulls her back, holding both hands firmly in his. He might faint, the thought occurs to him. He is holding the hands of Grace Abigail Mills after four years of pining, and it is now or never, this is his last ditch hope, he steps forward quickly and kisses her. This is happening, I'm kissing Abbie, her lips are so soft, and the quiet surprised sound she makes is so sweet, so perfect, he has pictured this all this time and he has waited until the last possible moment, and it's foolish he knows, it's stupid, but he couldn't carry on not knowing and--- She pulls back first, about to say something, reprimand him probably---when she catches sight of the sprig of mistletoe. 

"Andy," she says softly, with the barest of smiles touching her lips, "Andy," she says again, shaking her head with a sigh. There's a gentle warning in her voice as she says it, and right on cue that's when Luke resurfaces, too happy, too beaming, too oblivious to the fact that one of his best friends on the force just tried to whisk the woman he loves away beneath the watchful eye of a holiday tradition. 

"Andy!" he claps him too hard on the back, making him sputter and taking Abbie's hand in his, and keeping another around Andy's shoulder he marches them back inside where everyone is eerily quiet, watching them as they re-enter. 

When Luke smiles at her, whispers how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, Abbie knows what will come next.

She knows her answer.  
****************************************  
Present day July 2015

"That's him!" Jenny chimes and Abbie goes to the door, smoothing back her hair she squints through the peep hole.

"Who goes there?" she demands playfully.

"The love of your life,"

Abbie ponders loudly for a moment. "Hmm nope, doesn't ring a bell,"

"Open the damn door babe,"

Abbie opens it a crack before he grasps the handle in his hands and swings it wide open. She steps into his arms, kissing him hard because nerves have arisen out of nowhere. She is still shaken up from the events of today and nervous to spin her lie about the ring, so she needs something solid and reassuring right now. To have confidence in something. The way his arms lock around her in turn and he matches her stroke for stroke is just what she needs until Jenny makes a gagging noise in the back ground.

"Eww, Morales, save it till your wedding night,"


	18. On Their End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present day and past, the usual. Some reflections from Abraham and Jenny. Also some Abe/Ichabod friendship.
> 
> This is also a prelude to another collision of sorts. Wonder if you can guess involving who.

Present day July 2015

Abraham picks out a clean shirt and his favourite jeans, checks his hair in the mirror while doing some quiet vocal warm ups---they always annoy Crane--and strides out to the living room. "I'm going out tonight, are you sure you won't hurt yourself?" Abraham asks. Ichabod glances up from he book he is reading, showered and cleaned up he arches a brow at his friend.

"I'll be quite alright Abraham."

"Will you?" Do you promise I won't find you dead in some creative way by the time I get home? Abraham purses his lips. "I'm having someone come over to stay with you,"

Ichabod huffs in exasperation. "Really now Abraham,"

"For my peace of mind if nothing else," he retorts through gritted teeth. "My peace of mine when yours is questionable." It's only then as Abraham grabs his music and guitar, reaching over the back of the couch does he notice that Crane has in fact been writing in a book, not reading one. "What's that?" he asks leaning closer as Crane yelps and slams it shut.

"Nothing,"

"It better not be a farewell letter," 

"Abraham Van Brunt!" Crane scolds. "I have been a highly questionable and I profess, an unbearable, disgusting excuse for human being in times prior---Ah!" he raises a finger when Abraham tries to interrupt. "An 'asshole'. Yes. I admit. I hold no delusions about what I am and have been. However, I did manage something resembling sanity for little over a year, yes? a normal existence? I endeavour to capture that again. But you cannot babysit me Abraham. You cannot protect and rescue me," his voice cracks unexpectedly here and he clears his throat aggressively to cover it up. "I have put those dear to me, through horrible, nightmarish times, for years, YEARS." he emphasizes, running a hand through his hair he takes a deep breath. "You cannot, you cannot stop me if I truly desire to ruin myself. Do you understand? I could have tried harder during that time," 

Abraham's stomach churns at the thought.

"I could have done a great number of things to leave this world forever. And I have craved it yes, I admit that. Were death to come I will not fight it. I haven't been tempted towards it since, honestly, until today. I came face to face with the irreparable damage I have done to someone I loved. I remembered, Abraham. I remembered things I had lost, and those who suffered at my hands. My doing. It is too late, for apologies. But I must try." he meets Abrahams gaze. "For this reason, this chance to change, and heal, to attempt it, I want to live. So no, I'm not writing a fair well letter, no I'm not planning to harm myself, or anyone else. I have hurt people enough. I have run long enough."

Abraham considers Crane's speech, the picture of his friend sitting with determined clenched hands, deliberating if he believes a word that Crane has said. Sighing he hefts his guitar and makes for the front door, just when there's a knock. 

"I'm still having someone stay with you," 

"Abra---"

"Alright where is he," says a new voice. A deep baritone. Abraham steps aside and lets a tall dark skinned man, athletic build, walk into the room. His face wears a no nonsense scowl, he carries an air of authority about him that admittedly makes Ichabod flinch. He thinks he might be in more danger from this individual than himself, truth be told. Abraham experiences a strange case of deja vu as he makes introductions. "Ichabod, Captain Frank Irving, Captain Irving----"

"Yeah yeah yeah get going Van Brunt, heard that producer is setting up shop for his talent search. Tonight might be your night," he grins.

Smiling, Abraham shakes Frank's hand firmly and shoots a glare over his shoulder at Ichabod. "Behave," he instructs, locking the door behind him.

"Don't try anything stupid and I won't do you any favours in the self harm department," Frank looks at him meaningfully. Ichabod gulps. 

**********************************  
"Are you sure there's a restaurant here?" Jenny asks as Hawley runs his fingers along a wall. 

He pauses to fix her with a glare. "Yes I'm sure. It's very exclusive is all."

Abbie barks a laugh and Luke joins in with her. Hawley rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. "What, what are you two laughing at?" 

The two officers exchange a look and continue to chuckle until Luke clears his throat. "Abbie and I have been fighting crime in this town for years, we know every nook and cranny there is to be found in Sleepy Hollow,"

"Luke's right. If there was a secret exclusive restaurant hidden behind that brick wall, we'd know," still laughing heartily Luke takes Abbie's hand and they stroll ahead to the visible, non fictional restaurant just down the block. Behind them Hawley scratches his head in bewilderment and pouts. 

"It's here Mills I swear," he mutters. Rubbing his shoulder and pecking his cheek Jenny smiles at him. 

"I believe you, come on," 

The place is called Dozing Diners, a poorly conceived clever allusion to Sleepy Hollow most likely, but it's a classy place. They serve top notch five star four course meals, imported wine, and reportedly have the best service for miles. They make you feel like royalty. Make you feel like if they didn't do a good job you have the power to crush their souls---they are that dedicated to having their patrons enjoy themselves. Luke feels comfortable here. He likes to swagger in and flash his badge and watch the waitresses titter and run into each other as he stands there, stony faced, waiting for them to find the best spot in the house for them to sit. Abbie stands next to him, her arm hooked through his. Luke likes this, being close to her in this way, in this public declaration that says 'We belong to each other' he likes to whisper in her ear as they wait for seating, rubbing her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss it, when his eyes cross and he pulls away. "Hey," he whispers, glancing down at her hand and then back up at her. "where's your ring?"

"I'm getting it sized," she says, watching his face frown. "I told you it was too big. You don't grow into a ring," she explains.

"Will you have it back in time?"

"Should have it in a week," she lies again. He nods once but she can tell that he doesn't like it, not one bit. 

"Table for four?" the hostess chimes.

"Yes, that would be us,"

As they are seated and the waitress takes their orders Luke smirks at Nick. "So? tell me, your hidden restaurant as fancy as this?" 

The table erupts into laughter save for Hawley, who's face has turned beet red. 

"It's real!" he protests, the others continue to laugh. 

******************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: February. 2013

Katrina had been a collector, and it was a shame that most of it had to go to goodwill or other charities. He kept a select few things for Ichabod's sake, presuming there would ever come a time when he was sane enough to appreciate the sentimental value of them. He rifles through her CD collection, comes across one particular artist that he's never heard of. The name of the singer and the cover art is worn and faded, as if it had been examined numerous times---(Anxious fingers, Katrina's or Cranes? skimming over it wonderingly in the darkest pits of their union. Where is she? Where is she? they mutter. What happened? What happened?)----and because Abraham loves nothing more than discovering new music, and surely, Katrina---God Rest Her Soul----won't miss it now, and Crane----God Rest His MIND----is in no place to notice that the short tidy album has gone missing from the belongings, as he pockets that, and two other obscure artists. 

May 2013-January 2014

Minding Crane and ensuring he didn't do permanent bodily harm to Doctor Parish is something of a full time job. Not to mention a massive interruption of his current life plans. However, Crane is his best friend, what else is he supposed to do? 

Care for him. That's all. Truly, because when Ichabod isn't being this God awful hot mess, he's a wonderful friend. He overcompensates, probably, trying to make up for the wretched being he is, but when his head is on straight there is no one that makes Abraham laugh as he does, no one so close to a brother as he. Though he knows there are gaps between him and his best friend. There are women and heartache and failures that lie between them. Abraham has a few of his own, safely stored away. Things he'd kept neatly bound because unlike Ichabod, he had the capacity and the faculties to understand that some things are beyond his control. 

Like the fact that he had at first, upon first glance, back in their final high school days had thought Katrina was a lovely girl with a shy smile and a quasi odd fondness for animals over people. He might have been strategizing how to approach such a skittish looking creature before he'd heard that police had arrived and hauled away Ichabod for having a knife on the premises. 

Never in his dreams did he imagine that in convincing Ichabod to seek treatment for his anger issues that it would somehow pave a path to Katrina. He'd been there that first day, when Katrina's eyes had settled on his disturbed friend. He had marked the contrast in them, unruly Crane and the parcelled up bundle of the Van Tassel Girl. There are some things in life in which you do not interfere. 

Had he ever known that it would lead to some unspoken heartache, he might have charged in then---but nothing before it's time. 

Abraham had just finished his Master's in performance and education at SHU, was getting some decent gigs, finishing up his third choral work, commissioned by SHU itself for their university choir, and was just putting the plans into effect to open his studio when the call had come about Katrina's passing. He'd put away the files and paperwork and had carefully locked up goods in storage and sublet his apartment for the remainder of his lease and was on the first available flight, squashed in coach between two men who probably could have used the excess room of Abrahams seat to be honest, and setting foot back on English soil for the first time in years.

Abraham didn't have a lot of family growing up, and certainly less since reaching adulthood. His parents had been late to the party as far as starting a family was concerned. He'd had a brother, a twin, to be precise, but he'd drowned one day at the beach. He'd waded too far out into the water and it was too late by the time they'd gotten him back to shore. Grief could have made them miserable people, but instead it had made them watchful of Abraham. Hawk eye watchful. Always ensuring his safety, giving him everything they could manage so he could enjoy his life and live out his dreams. Kept him close and safe, and he was happy with that, liked the nearness of his small intimate family model, hoped one day he would be able to give another child the unrivalled love he had experienced, the steady parenting he had received. That he would be strong in the face of grief as his parents had been losing one of their sons. 

He had a sense early on, perhaps, that life was not something you tried to predict, or mould, or outrun. You live it, the best you can manage and hope it doesn't find some creative way to turn on you---and even then, find it in yourself to forgive the unfortunate turn of events and carry on.

Which is what he did when his mother was diagnosed and his father went into cardiac arrest and passed, swiftly from this world to the next. He'd gone home then, too. That had been back in 2008. Again for his mother in 2009. So deeply in love and bound were his parents that his mother had as much as given up on life and had lain there, waiting to meet her husband on the other side. Abraham had been at her bedside, had held her hand. Ichabod and Katrina had attended the funerals of is parents, had been his shoulder to cry on amid his grief, even going through whatever storm that was passing over their marriage. 

So it had seemed a small thing.

Yes. Even putting his life on hold that year to get Crane's wits about him. 

To return the kindness. 

And he was fortunate enough, or perhaps resilient enough, to pick right back up where he had left off when he returned to Sleepy Hollow in 2014. Things have been going well for him ever since. 

July 2015

Until Crane showes up on his doorstep, and for a fleeting moment, just the briefest sliver of time, Abraham wonders if maybe his patience and kindness is spent. 

As he leaves behind Ichabod in the care of Frank Irving, it is clear to him.

It is not. 

*****************************  
Jenny Mills: October 2005

Jenny gets off the plane with Hawley's arm slung around her shoulder, both loaded down with bags. Abbie is waiting for them when they arrive. Jenny cannot help but notice that she looks different. 

The Abbie that Jenny left behind had been tearful, soft, young. The Abbie that greets her wears a smile that conceals hurt, a face that has hardened in some places. In her eyes, Jenny can see Abbie is older, changed, in a way that she wasn't before she'd left. Does four years make such a difference? she wonders as she wraps Abbie in her arms and introduces Nick, and Abbie is good natured and welcomes him and they get in the car and head home. 

"What year is it?" Jenny asks as she walks in, flabbergasted, that in the years she has been away, nothing has changed. Not a damn thing. 

"2005," Abbie answers as she drops a bag at the door and heads for the kitchen. Jenny walks around the room, marvelling at the cushions on the couch and the runner on the coffee table, the rug, the candles---the same damn candles that mama used---still sitting on the shelves. She wants to scream. She wants to grab a hold of Abbie and shake her. How can you live like this? she wants to know. How have you managed to live like this? Is nothing here yours? Are you waiting for her to come back? four years later? Mama isn't coming back Abbie---she's never coming back---she aggressively clears her throat as a picture on the wall catches her eye. This place is like a capsule for grief, that Abbie has managed to function in it is a wonder to Jenny. She's certain the constant reminders would have driven her mad. 

"You'd never be able to tell," she says, her throat suddenly dry. "It's like she never left,"

"Who?" Abbie calls, Jenny hears the sound of cups clinking and then a whistling kettle. 

"Mama---the hell is this?" she asks as Abbie remerges with two cups in hand. Abbie looks at her strangely. 

"It's called tea. Here, it'll help you settle down. Haw--Hawley?"

Nick, who has just been examining underneath one of the floating shelves bangs his head. "Uh yeah?"

"Tea?"

"Don't mind if I do, thanks Abbie,"

"You're welcome,"

"Abbie," Jenny hisses. "We need to talk."

"About?"

"About you setting up the place like Mama's about to walk back through that door."

"What are you talking about?"

Nick coughs loudly. "Got any biscuits?"

"Pantry" the sisters answer in unison and Nick makes himself scarce. 

"This place is just as I left it, you haven't cleared out anything, put anything new in here,"

"I just finished my undergrad, I wasn't exactly preoccupied with the interior decor. Besides, it feels like home."

"It feels like the past,"

Abbie holds up a hand. " I don't wanna argue with you Jenny, alright? Tell me more about how you met blondie in there," and just like that the conversation is closed. Jenny wants to address the state of the house, how Abbie seems weary of the world already at her age, but there's a commotion in the kitchen and Abbie rolls her eyes, quickly investigating what trouble Nick has gotten himself into.

Jenny asks afterwards, what was she up to over the summer, how does it feel to be free of school, how fun was SHU and she gets answers. Not all of them. But enough. Since Abbie won't throw anything away, her and Hawley start their own redecorating projects. Yet her sister is still too deep in some other place to notice or protest the outrageous choices.

Abbie only starts resembling her old self when she comes home one evening the following year, mentioning running into some random outside a bar. 

The random turned out to be Orion Angel. And In Jenny's opinion, the best thing that had happened to Abbie since she'd gotten back from her travels. Abbie came alive working on music with him, tapping into a part of herself, discovering something new, creating. Abbie stopped being stormy and when it was done, her sister had seemed lighter. 

July 2015

Nowadays, Abbie is more or less the girl Jenny knows, but there's some part of her still that's locked up tight. Jenny strongly suspects, that part of that is her recent disconnect from singing. From being around people who sing. She doesn't understand why, but Abbie hasn't ever mentioned anything to Luke about her brave venture into a tentative, though brief music career. She doesn't let him listen to the album, doesn't share opinions with him. 

Luke doesn't even know Abbie CAN sing.

"How the hell have you managed to hide that?" she asked once. Abbie had shrugged.

"It doesn't come up,"

"What if he comes by your album one day?"

Abbie had guffawed. "Hah. Highly doubt it. Orion didn't make nearly enough copies for there to still be any kicking around," and she had added, "It would bring up too many questions anyway,"

Well, Luke wouldn't be the only one who had questions, certainly. Jenny and Nick had stayed up nights on end in the living room long after Abbie had gone to bed, listening and re-listening and inventing stories, histories, any explanation for what they were hearing in her songs.

They knew she was saying something. Telling someone, everyone, something. 

Jenny never mentions it, but it hurts her still, a little, that Abbie had found a way to tell any eager listener what was going on inside. But she hadn't found it prudent to tell Jenny anything at all. 

However, whatever the secret may be, whatever her reasoning, Jenny's only recourse is to be there for Abbie, to make up for the years that she wasn't. Jenny fears sometimes that during those years she spent away, that maybe that was when something…..happened to her sister. Something that inspired that heartfelt, gut wrenching debut.

That maybe indirectly, whatever pain Abbie suffered might have been her fault. 

So Abbie hasn't been singing since getting involved with Luke, hasn't been going to coffee house anymore. Karaoke, once in a blue moon, but it doesn't feed Abbie the way the coffee house atmosphere does, the energy of people reinventing classic songs and premiering their own original works. The support of the locals, there's a buzz to it that she knows Abbie misses, she's said as much. 

Jenny thinks it's ridiculous that Luke doesn't know this side of his fiance. That Abbie's hiding it. She also thinks that if anyone can wear Abbie down enough to return to music, to get back to who she was, it'll be Orion Angel. And, she's been hearing he'll be sitting in on coffee house tonight. Looking for talent to personally invite to try out for his show. Maybe tonight can be the start of something new for Abbie, again. Maybe it'll reveal something to Luke.

And maybe Orion and Luke will get in a fight, which would be entertaining, she thinks. So that's why she called Morales that day after parting with Abbie after coffee. 

"She'll love it,"

"Are you sure? Abbie's never mentioned wanting to go to one, or---"

"Trust me," Jenny had cut in. "Abbie will love it. You will too. It'll be good for you," 

So here they are tonight, strolling into the cozy welcoming atmosphere of talent night. As promised, Abbie's face lights up as they walk in, she sighs happily and Jenny gives Luke the thumbs up as Nick whistles behind them. "haven't been here in a while, eh Abbie?"

"No, it's bit a long time," she answers, not thinking, forgetting that this isn't supposed to be a part of her world. Luke looks at her quizzically. 

At a table in the back of the room, a pair of amber eyes flick to the doorway. His eyes land on Abbie with Luke's arm slung around her waist, holding her close. 

"Well," he muses. "Looks like you belong to someone after all,"


	19. I've Known.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flashback, 
> 
> Events at the coffeehouse
> 
> poorest excuse for the loose ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been swamped lately, this isn't quite up to par, but it gets the ball rolling for where I'm headed next with this. Thank you SO MUCH for sticking with me this far! Your comments are everything <3

Abbie Mills: December 2014

No

The word blares in her mind as Andy takes his hand in hers, just a moment before their lips touch. 

Now? her mind reels as she stomps down the strange excitement that rears up in her heart. Really Andy, now? I'm glad you finally worked up the courage for it but you couldn't have worse timing. 

A rebellious, dangerous part of her mind dares her to throw her arms around his neck, to pull him deeper, to make this stolen moment something he'll remember. Show him what he's really missing out on since he could never be brave enough to act before. Let Luke catch you. Let your life crash down around your ears. 

No. A calmer voice says, overwhelming the destructive one. That's when she pulls away. "Andy," she smiles softly, gently, because, it is sort of sweet, his last ditch effort. Maybe he imagined it would have been some transforming thing, that she would have cast off everything and left with him. Had hoped that that one kiss would change her---like a spell cast or one reversed?---and that she'd suddenly fall madly in love with him. 

But love isn't that one, perchance kiss. She wants to tell him. Love is messy, wild, a take no prisoners powerful thing. A flame that will burn you just as soon as illuminate the dark. She doesn't wish that on him. "Andy," she says again, hoping that it says what she means to say. That it's endearing, that It's too late, that I wish you a thousand more kisses like that with someone more suited for them. 

I wish you a life free of burns. 

Luke arrives on the scene, beaming at her and his friend both and Abbie is relieved to be rescued from this moment. To slip back into the careful, orderly, safe place she has created. 

They'd discussed marriage, two months ago. It had come up purely because Abbie had caught him perusing rings at work.

October 2014

"Morales"----because relationship or no she's a professional woman---"Morales I need you to---what are you doing?" 

He whirls away from the computer so fast, awkwardly obstructing her view by using his body as a shield for the screen. "Mills! I have the file, there you go, petty theft, all filled out and----"

Abbie drops her voice and leans in. "Luke, move away from the screen." Solemnly, he shuffles to the side and Abbie is faced with the images of row upon row of beautiful jewellery. No. Rings. Engagement----oh. Quietly, Abbie stepped back from the screen, willing herself not to fall in love with any of the pretty cuts or designs, when his fingers wrap discreetly around hers.

"We need to talk," he says. She nods once, still in a sort of daze, retrieves the papers and walks out of the room. In the hallway she hyperventilates. 

He means it, man, he wants to stick around. Be a unit. Be one. It's everything she's wanted, but there's a lingering indescribable thing hovering on the edge of her heart. It asks her why she plots to become immovable stone when she can be fluid like water and the wind.

Because stone is steady, enduring and stronger. 

December 2014

So Abbie hadn't been surprised when Luke had sunk down on knee, no, she'd been more shocked by the beautiful ring. Glittering and shimmering in the lights of the hall and the engraving on the inside of the band, that read: Two halves made whole, Abbie Mills, Luke Morales. 

The fact that the size had been off was an accident, of course. Luke had ordered the designer ring, with the intention of a holiday proposal, and it had been a horrible error on the jewellers part that they'd sent the wrong size. And it had been too late to send it back, lest it ruin his proposal plans. 

Abbie had mentioned it felt a little, less than snug, but their hours at work were always so long and strange that the shop was always closed by the time they got there. The one time they did the shipment had already gone out for the week. Another day some part of the company or other was on holiday. And Abbie would mention it, intermittently, between work and wedding planning which, given the time line they had chosen was proving more taxing than they had planned---it had been forgotten, the stupid truth. 

Only remembered every now and again if Abbie gestured too wildly. 

**************************  
Present day July 2015

Abbie wants to make a beeline for the front row, it's their spot in her head. In the remnant of memories she has of coming here regularly to perform and to listen. She would sit right there, dead centre with Jenny and Nick, but just then Luke tugs her gently back towards the bar. "What would you like babe?" 

"A--a---uh" Abbie can't focus because she is still reaching towards the seat, and her heart deflates as it becomes filled by other patrons. She huffs and turns around, hopping up on the stool next to Luke. "Anything, I don't care," Jenny and Nick hop up beside them, ordering coffee and cake. Luke grips her chin and peers into her eyes. 

"Hey,"

"Hey,"

"I love you, you know that right?" He brushes his lips softly on hers, once, twice, before pulling away to admire the way her eyes sparkle. Abbie opens her mouth to reply, when the crackling static of a mic sparks out over the crowd.

"Good evening good evening, welcome everyone, It's our talent night tonight, you know what that means, get up, sing, pour your heart out. We wanna hear your old songs, new songs, reinvented, remained, get up here and share your voice, Let's have a good time tonight, alright? No booing!" the announcer, a bubbly barista scolds the audience and everyone laughs as she clears the stage for the first singer.

"How often do they do this?" Luke asks, Abbie takes her eye off the stage to answer him before Nick cuts in. 

"Once a week at least, right Mills?"

"Can't remember,"

Nick frowns. "What do you mean you can't remember? we use to come here every week,"

"It was a long time ago Hawley," she snaps, clearly irritated with him. In the midst of their bickering the soloist has begun. Luke excuses himself to take a call and Jenny nudges Abbie, hard.

"Are you gonna sing?"

"This was your plan wasn't it."

"It's absurd that your future husband doesn't know how important music is to you."

"I don't see how him knowing is going to alter our relationship in anyway,"

"You obviously do, seeing as you have been staunchly avoiding bringing it up. What did he think you did before him? that you didn't have a life? That you've always been into paint ball, bowling, strolls along the beach?"

"You wanted me to enjoy tonight?" she asks. "Then let me sit here and hum or sing along and listen. Here. In the audience. Okay?"

Soft applause sounds around them and Abbie claps absentmindedly , not even paying attention to who takes the stage next. Her and Jenny are having a silent glare off as the performer begins, soft voice radiating out towards them. Annoyed, Jenny shakes her head. "You shouldn't have secrets, that's all." she says. What Jenny really means to say is 'We shouldn't have secrets. We're sisters"

The song being sung is soulful, full of hurt that is years old and bone deep. The performer captures it surprisingly well in his own folky arrangement of it. Words float to Abbie, oddly familiar, and the tune, tweaked as it is, sparse in texture with just voice and guitar locks in her ear as she begins to sing along. She wonder's why this music feels familiar why---wait. No. Abbie knows this voice. 

She hasn't heard it since back in December but Abbie knows this voice. For the first time she lifts her head, no longer staring into the depths of her drink and turns her eyes on the stage. On the man that's up there with his guitar, his collared white shirt, his faded jeans, blond hair catching the light and his voice twining around the pain----

Her, pain. Abbie realizes with icy terror.

The gentleman on the stage is singing one of her songs. Off her album. The one that hasn't gotten radio play in years. That doesn't even turn up in stores anymore. Abbie hasn't listened to it since 2009. 

The man stops abruptly, looking out into the dimly lit room, because unbeknownst to Abbie, she'd gotten swept up. The familiarity of her own work had crept up on her, coaxed her to her feet, and made her bold. Had made her voice join in harmony, full of the heart that had forgotten how to musically bleed, the voice that remembers the melodic lines, the weight of the lyrics. Abbie has betrayed herself. She has been singing along with this stranger throughout the last verse and chorus. Loudly.

Eyes turn on her. Kind eyes. Genuinely intrigued ones. Finally his eyes find their quarry and land on her. Recognition flickers between them across the room. The eerie quiet is broken by the barista leaping back up to the mic again. 

"And that was Abraham Van Brunt and…..that lady over there! guys! give them a hand!"

Abbie feels like she's underwater, the world suddenly seems muted and foggy, her vision wavers. Slowly, clapping begins. Jenny grins as she takes a swig from her glass, she thinks it's a triumph that contrary to her protests, Abbie has ended up singing after all. Even if it was from the audience. She doesn't notice that Abbie suddenly seems unsteady on her feet.

How on EARTH did he get his hands on that album? she wonders. It had vanished from the market entirely by the end of 2008. If Orion had still been handing out left over copies that was another story, but still---

There's a rush of movement and then there's a man standing before her, keeping her upright. The world rights itself for a moment as her eyes connect with his pale green ones. She hadn't cared to notice earlier when they had met. This afternoon seems eons ago after the day she's had. "Whoa whoa whoa, easy, easy," and he guides her back to her seat, keeping one of her hands still in his. Abbie is shaking. 

She has reopened an avenue for people to notice her, to ask her questions, to remember a passing fancy in the music world. A world that had healed her, yes, but it had also been a place where she had buried her heartache in the Crane aftermath. She doesn't want to talk about her music, doesn't want to attract interest for it suddenly. Doesn't want to endure the relentless questioning over and over again, "Who was it about, what were you going through? What will you write about next?"---because after pouring herself into that project Abbie didn't know if she even HAD anything else to write about, and certainly if it meant experiencing that level of pain again she didn't want to--- Doesn't want to explain to Luke, who had come back just in time to hear Abbie finishing her unexpected duet with a stranger, now towering over her, an arm draped too protectively around Abbie's back. 

"Abbie, isn't it? we met earlier today, small world," he says quietly, his thumb rubs along the back of her hand, attempting to soothe her. There are a million things firing through his brain.

This is Ichabod's Abbie.

This is the woman that Crane has wronged. 

And then,

I know her voice. I have known her voice for two years, I have committed these songs to memory and they are hers. 

And then,

They're about Crane. He can feel it. It was there, the beautiful hurt, when she'd risen from her seat, as if in a trance and had sung with him. 

"Abbie? it's me, Abraham."

"How," she croaks. The show carries on around them, another act on stage. "Where, where did you hear that song,"

"I'll get you a glass of water,"

"You didn't say you were a musician," she says accusingly. Suddenly everything falls into place, this is the magnificent music teacher Cynthia raved about, the enchanting crooner from so many months ago. 

Abraham takes her in, she's sitting taller now, breathing less erratically. "Neither did you," 

"You know I never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear someone else perform your work," drawls a smooth voice and it takes everything within Abbie not to crumble. There are too many things happening at once. Too many facets of her life colliding just so when she had strived to keep them apart. 

"Orion," 

"Abbie," he glances at her, then at Abraham, extending his hand.

"Orion Angel," he announces. "I liked what I heard. I want you to participate in my talent search. You know Abbie's work, and I appreciate that. She was a green artist and I a green producer, but we made something strong, powerful, that apparently still had an impact?"

Abraham nods "I like music with heart."

Orion gives a toothy grin. "Don't we all. It'd be nice to get her back in the studio. After all she still sounds decent, doesn't she?"

Stop it. Abbie thinks. She doesn't know what game Orion is playing right now, buttering up Abraham and herself simultaneously, but it can't be good. Orion is different from when they spoke last. He's an unknown variable that she doesn't have time to solve for. 

Luke watches as one man steps back and another into the vicinity of his fiance, over familiar and confidential in tone, as he draws nearer, he hears their rapid exchange over music and studios and a numbness settles over him. He'd never had a clue that Abbie could sing, and so beautifully. He didn't know Abbie had these other friends, one of them a renown music producer. It's occurs to him for the first time that there are things he doesn't know. And it's not a crime, surely. But the way she has so deliberately failed to mention it. Did she think he would judge her? How could she keep this from him?

Why would she?

What doesn't she want him to know?


	20. Reason Has No Place Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because these men are messy.
> 
> And Orion has an odd way of showing he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, I'm not going to turn anymore men into raging jerks here.
> 
> They'll be flawed, oh yes. But none with such deep aggravating issues as Crane. 
> 
> Thanks again for the wonderful support! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

The barista announces that there will be a half hour break for the next group to set up.Half of Luke wants to be hurt. The other half of him sees how flustered and obviously uncomfortable Abbie has suddenly become. Squaring his shoulders, he muscles his way through to the gathering. Abbie is too busy glaring at Orion to notice that Luke has somewhat politely shuffled Abraham out of the way, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey babe, you were amazing just now," he leans as if whispering in her ear but he's talking too loudly. He wants the other men to hear, but he also means it. No one could fault Abbie that voice, he at least wants to make it clear that he's heard her and that she was wonderful. 

"Luke," she says, gripping his hand and sliding off the stool into his arms. And bless him he knows how to play nice for now, even if he's irritated with Abbie he knows how to keep up appearances. "Let's go,"

"You're going to tell me what this is all about," 

"Or what, Morales?"

Orion chooses then to introduce himself. "Orion Angel, producer. I see you know my Abbie,"

Luke balks. "Your, Abbie?"

"My Angry Abbie," Orion asserts with a sneer. "My passionate tumultuous eye of the storm Abbie who can cut a song that'll shred your heart. That's my girl,"

"I'm not your girl," Abbie grinds out, feeling anger boil up inside of her. This isn't like him, she thinks. He likes to tease and needle her yes, but he's being downright vindictive right now, it's as if he wants to start a fight. Oh, but of course he does. She tugs fiercely on Luke's hand but Orion's words have already taken root.

"How do you two know each other again?"

Orion stretches, cracking his neck and fingers. "You familiar with this song?"

"What are you---"

Orion begins to sing, softly, ". She got a medal for suffering, gave her a crown for her healing, ain't got a throne but maybe my lap would do.' Well did it do Abbie? was it good enough to make do?" Abbie pales and yanks on Luke's arm.

"Let's. Go. Now"

Luke's feet won't move. He takes in the twinkling, smarmy look dancing in Orion's eyes, let's the words tumble around in his brain. He can't quite make sense of it, doesn't entirely understand the big picture, but he can see that Abbie is upset, and that this man, whatever their past together, is putting her through unwarranted misery. Luke is an officer of the law. 

And he knows better. 

He really does.

But he throws a punch anyway.

*******************  
Ichabod Crane: 2005-2012

He wakes up next to Katrina. He swings his feet out of the bed and onto the floor, he rummages through the nightstand, quietly, quietly, gathering papers and files. Banking information. He tucks them all neatly into his current planner. He goes to the closet, pulling down one of each garment, deftly donning his coat, grasping the planner in one hand, a suitcase in the other. His hand goes to the door, he turns the lock. 

"Ichabod?" Katrina appears at the top of the steps, concern written across her face. "Ichabod my love?" she skips nimbly down the steps, taking the case away from him, waving her hand before his still drooping lids. "You're sleep walking," she says, quietly guiding him back up the steps, out of his clothes, back into bed.

Yes. Ichabod nods as he pulls the blankets up under his chin. We will call it sleep walking.

They do not know what to call it the next time it happens. 

Or the next.

Ten more times after that over the years.

The final time Katrina lays still in the bed and waits to hear the door slam shut, the squeal of a taxi whisking Ichabod away from her life. She waits for the void of a husband running out on her and back to the things that haunt him. She waits for the relief that will come from no more days and nights of restless fidgeting and secrets. She even waits for the moment in which she will look forward to a letter from him---telling her he has at last righted his wrong, has found his peace, maybe even a picture----she hasn't a clue what had happened to Abbie immediately after the departure----maybe even a picture of the child. 

Instead there is only a the defeated thud of his case hitting the floor, and Ichabod sliding down to meet it. 

She does not appear to him at the top of the steps. She closes her eyes and hears him shuffle back into the room, stripping off and climbing back into bed. Her heart aches. She is unsure how much more of this either of them could possibly endure.

The next month is when she decides to leave. 

**********************  
Orion Angel: August 2014-July 2015

A man left alone with his thoughts can be a dangerous thing. A man like Orion, who can see right through Abbie and has been able to since the first day they met especially. He's what you call a wind of change. A shifting tide. He's the one who pushes you out of the plane before you chicken out of sky diving. The one who will drag you into a haunted house or terrifying film and will scream just as much but will grip your hand tightly the whole way through. He'll take the risks and assess the damage later. He will push and push and push until you break, and he won't care if in the end you hate him if he feels that at last, you've discovered the truth. 

He has been watching Abbie. The strict, controlled, societal guarded woman she has evolved into over the years. Facts. Cut and dry. Clinical eye. Excellent at what she does, make no mistake.

Yet he watches her gathering moss. Taking roots, even though there is a skittish flicker in her eyes that suggests a need for flight. 

That perhaps, after all of this time Abbie is having an instinct contrary to the path she has been steadfastly paving for herself. 

He runs the risk that she will hate him later. But Orion is her friend. And he loves her, there's that annoying little fact too. 

He'll deal with the fall out later, if there is one.

For now. He's pursuing the muse.

And in the process he's going to shove Abbie towards the door of the plane, double check her gear, smile encouragingly before telling her to jump.

And watch her tumble freely through the sky.

************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: February-March 2013

He heads back to the townhouse. Visiting hours at the hospital are over. It is another tediously long night in the dark, silent house. Most of it has all been cleared away. There's a showing for the place tomorrow. He sits down on the lone chair that remains, rests his laptop on a box, drags over another small bag of things he'd found worth keeping. He digs out the cds, loading them on to his mac. Afterwards he hits play and lets them run as he leans back in the darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight illuminating the room and his eyes flutter shut. Drifting off to sleep with the company of music.

It's when he hears a melodic heartfelt voice that he ruffles from his sleep. He blinks, having forgotten where he is before glancing at the computer. Some glitch in compatibility prevented itunes from identifying the artist or song titles. This nameless voice and her impassioned poetic words are all he has to go by. He sits upright, listening closely, transfixed in the cloak of night. 

There is pain in the words, pain in the voice, but a resilience too, there is an underlying raw strength that says 'I am bleeding and I don't care. I am wounded but I will heal. I am strong enough to remember the good times, the bad ones, to embrace what I have become through it all' There's a bravery to it, that's so enduring, endearing, so unbelievable that Abraham chokes back a sob.

In some ways, he understands. 

He can relate to the undercurrent of loss, of heartbreak, of investing yourself in those you care about. He let's this album loop. Over and over again until the sun rises. He's thankful to Katrina for finding this album, leaving it behind for him to discover. He is grateful to the woman bearing her soul through music, for inspiring him. 

This is what he wants to do with his craft.

It suddenly becomes clear to him what the next step of his career will be.

First chance he gets, he's going to work on an album of his own.

He can only hope it will have half as much heart and soul as this one.

July 2015

When he hears the voice joining in with his on stage his first thought is someone has decided it would be a clever joke to start playing the original recording. It's when the harmonies start appearing, when their voices start merging and soaring that he realizes the voice singing is too intuitive to be rendered by digitization. There is a live person singing with him. And it's her voice. 

The voice of his muse.

The voice that he has turned to when he craves the initimate darkness of rich harmonies and vulnerable, yet potent musicality. Her voice that first spurred him to finally dig in to a concept he's been toying with for years. 

It's been Abbie's voice.

The voice of the woman he met just earlier today. This is the woman Crane has vowed to make amends with. The woman---this is the woman he had been hopeful to pair his best friend off with---before Crane explained they share a past---his inspiration! This is her! 

Disbelief makes his hands still, and the music stops. He squints into the darkness until he finds her. Their eyes meet. For two years he has known her voice, today he knew her face, but now, he knows her.

They have been hovering on the periphery of one another's lives, both dwelling in Sleepy Hollow and he has never known it. He thinks in that instant he understands now. It was Abbie who lingered in the recesses of Crane's mind, interrupting what should have been marital bliss. It is Crane that carved a whole in her heart and drove her to song. 

All this time he and Abbie have been linked through the power of music, and Ichabod Crane. 

Something roars at the back of his mind. Something snaps. He wonders if at last some dormant sleeping beast has awoken inside of him. 

Everyone has their demons. 

And some wild undefined thing just woke up in Abraham Van Brunt.

*********************************  
Present day July 2015

The punch misses Orion and instead lands in the hand of Abraham who has caught Luke's fist. Luke doesn't miss a beat, he swings with his opposite hand but Abraham blocks that one too.

Dealing with an unpredictable Crane has given Abraham a good deal of foresight with an opponent, not to mention a strong instinct of self preservation as he continues to block Luke's precise onslaught. Someone shrieks"Fight!" and Abbie gives Luke a hard tug.

"Are you nuts," she hisses. "They're going to call police, and you ARE police. Stop it!" 

And in that moment of distraction, Orion lays him out flat. A collective gasp goes through the cafe where people are now swarmed with their cell phones and cameras, the staff are trying very hard not to make a scene. 

"Well that's gonna be on TMZ tomorrow," Orion says in annoyance, shaking out his fist. Abbie's world has never been so upside down. She drops to her knees at Luke's side, tapping his face.

"Morales," she calls, tap tap tap. "Morales, Luke," she stresses, bringing her lips to his ear and glaring at Orion and Abraham. 

A blinding flash forces her to shield her eyes from the glare and when she looks up she rolls her eyes. You've got to be kidding. 

The man behind the camera, is none other than Calvin Riggs. 

Steeling herself Abbie rockets to her feet and pulls out her badge from the inside of her dress, flashing it at all of those who are standing idly by. "That's it Angel, I'm making a citizens arrest." 

He complies when she wrestles his arms behind him, marching him outside, but not before she barks orders at Jenny and Hawley to get Morales the hell out of here. 

"You know I've imagined you as a dominant many times, but it's never gone quite like this."

"Shut up!" she snaps, tears springing to her eyes. "I don't know why you're doing this to me but you have no right. I'm taking you down to the station now to fill out an incident report, you hear me? And you're NOT going to tell them Luke threw the first punch. You owe me that for what you've put me through tonight."

"Isn't that called obstructing evidence?" 

"You better be happy that's all I obstruct," she snarls at him. There are still flashes following them outside. "And YOU" she whirls on Calvin. "I thought you did serious journalism?"

"A story is a story. I get the action first, decide what to do with it later." he explains, clearly caught off guard. To be honest, it wasn't until the last shot that he had even realized it was Abbie. 

Abbie makes a disgusted noise and drags Orion over to Calvin's ride. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm commandeering your vehicle to take this one here down to the station. I'd appreciate if you didn't take up this particular article, but I don't have a say in what you do with your life anymore, if I ever did,"

Nodding solemnly Calvin steps aside, opening the back door of the car while Abbie hurls Orion in and then tosses her the keys. "Bring it back safe," he calls over the sound of the engine starting up.

Safe? 

Abbie laughs harshly. "I'll do my best," 

The car peals away into the night. In the back seat of the car, Orion smirks at her in the rearview mirror.

Back at the cafe Abraham sits down on an abandoned stool. Stunned. What, exactly, just happened? he wonders as he takes in the cleared away crowd, Abbie escorting top producer---also his music career shot--out the door, and a just now coming around off duty officer groaning on the floor.

Luke massages his jaw and looks up at Jenny and Hawley leaning worriedly over him. "Where's Abbie?"

In the car Abbie pulls over on the side of the road three blocks from the cafe. She leans her forehead on the steering wheel and counts to ten. 

"I'm going to give you one chance to explain to me what the hell was going on in there just now,"

Orion shrugs nonchalantly and leans back in the seat. "You know the phrase, old habits die hard? Guess that's how I feel about you."


	21. Coming Clean (As Much As You Dare)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honesty is always the best policy.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Unless it means making a mess of things/hurting feelings.
> 
> Abbie deals with the fallout. 
> 
> A little touch base with Abraham.
> 
> All present day 2015 cept for one brief flashback.

"You're a piece of work you know that?" she asks before leaning her head back on the steering wheel. "I mean, we don't speak for a year, and then you come back into town and literally upset my life---easy as kicking over a bucket of water---I just. I can't believe you did this to me Orion,"

He winces--he never thought he'd miss the familiarity of her calling him 'Ry' "Look, Abbie,"

"Why, why'd you have to goad him like that, huh? I thought you were my friend. I thought you said you'd be happy if I was happy."

"It's different when I see it with my own eyes, okay?" Orion huffs and looks out the window. "It's different when I never have to meet the dude, and never have to watch him get all of the things I've always wanted with you but would never let me have because you're terrified of---"

"Stop." Abbie grips the wheel hard in her hands. "Stop, I get it."

"You're even too scared to voice your fears out loud. But I've always known them Abbie. You think your eyes don't say it? You think, I haven't noticed, that the 'safer' you make yourself, the more wild the gleam in your eye gets? Why don't you let yourself be true? let go?"

"With you?" she shoots back, turning in her seat to face him. "Is that the key? to let loose with you? 'let my HEART decide'--- Shining shimmering splendid'?" 

"Oh you're going for the jugular bringing Aladdin into this," Orion frowns, feeling his heart sink. 

"I've let that….that thing in there decide for me before. I've let it make choices for me and look at what I am today. Look at where I am. I made a poor mistake years ago, and it earned me you, ruining what should have been a nice night, a fun night. So forgive me not wanting to throw caution to the wind and that palpitating----traitor in my chest. It's never had my best interests at heart. Pardon the pun." she finishes, her voice steady with deathly calm. 

"I'm sorry that I love you and it made me act foolish"

Abbie snorts. "Love me? If you loved me you wouldn't have done that to me."

Orion furrows his brow and leans forward. His eyes shimmer with remorse, because hurting Abbie has never been his goal. Making her angry? uncomfortable? he's done that plenty over the years, it heals, it paves over, but hurt? to hear that depth of pain----he hasn't heard Abbie sound so wounded, ever, by him, no less. "How can I show you I'm sorry?"

"Stop pretending you know me." She says, her lips trembling. She's going to cry damn it. Hasn't she spent enough time in the tide of tears today? "Stop pretending that you know my life, my soul, my music, what I need. You don't okay? you don't."

"Abbie---"

"You're the closest to knowing, you're the only one who's seen me as vulnerable as I was then, you're the only one who knows that side of me but it doesn't mean you know me cover to cover."

"Then tell me," he begs, beseeching as he leans forward. "Abbie please, look at me." 

"I'm looking at someone but it's not you. The Ry I know would never humiliate me"

"The Ry you know was always biding his time, waiting for the day that you would see that I'm in love with you and have been since the day we met and all I've ever wanted was to show you that, tell you that and I waited, waited, hoping. But damn if you didn't always look away if you saw it. Damn if you didn't change the subject or deflect me with friendly banter. And for what, Abbie? You don't even love Luke,"

That's it.

Abbie takes the key out the car, wrenches the car door open and storms to the back, hauling Orion out and to his feet. "Yeah?" She gives him a shove, because she doesn't even care if he wants to call this assault later---she doesn't give a damn. 

Orion staggers and sighs heavily, as if he can't even bare the weight of the words he's about to deliver. "I just knocked your boyfriend out. And the first thing you do is drag me out here. Alone. With you. You're out here telling me how much I don't know you, when Luke is the one that doesn't know you at all,"

Abbie glares daggers at him, ignoring the twisting feeling in her gut. "You stay outta my way from now on, Angel." she warns before she spins on her heel, gets back in the car and drives off

Abbie drives around town on her own after she leaves Orion stranded on the street. She smacks the wheel in frustration---she didn't even make him fill out the report---but everything inside of her is a rattling whirlwind She keeps playing Orion's words in her head, over and over again. Wild gleams in her eyes, she shakes her head vehemently at the notion, safe, there's nothing safe about being the field everyday she counters in her mind---'luke is the one that doesn't know you at all'---that strikes a chord that she wished didn't resound through her core. When she finally stops her aimless driving she's pulled up outside of Luke's building. Abbie takes a moment, checking her face in the mirror, no mascara runs, no smudged makeup. It's her reddened eyes that will tell on her. Those she can't hide as she locks the car off, straightens her dress and walks purposefully towards the downstairs lobby.

Inside Luke shuffles around slowly, tidying up the kitchen, putting on the kettle. Hopeful, wishful that Abbie will come by. His jaw still smarts, and so does his pride, but it's nothing compared to the ridiculous feeling of abandonment he experienced when he learned Abbie had left with Orion. Of course he knew, understood, her reasoning. Paperwork etc. He knows he is being petty. He's being unfair and ridiculous, and the last thing Abbie needs when--IF she shows up, is for her to clash against a storm front. No. They're going to talk this out. Or something. Maybe they'll write the whole evening off altogether---Luke pauses amid his movements as he watches the lock turn slowly before the door swings open and Abbie lets herself in. He'd given her a key last fall.

Abbie had said it wasn't in her place to give out keys when other people lived there.

Luke puts down the mugs he's just grabbed from the cupboard, turning to face her, watches as she leans back on the door with her head titled down. She takes two breaths before stretching and approaching him in the kitchen. "Hey,"

"Hey,"

She glances at him briefly and turning begins proceeding down the hall to his room and he has no choice but to follow. He finds her sitting down on the edge of the bed and he joins her. Abbie turns towards him, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. "Thank you, for tonight," she starts, working slowly, methodically. "I've missed the atmosphere. I'm sorry I never told you,"

"Which part?"

"That I sing," she replies, half way down the row. "I used to go all the time couple years ago. Orion…..I released an album. No one sells it anymore." she reaches the last button and begins to push the shirt off his shoulders. "He was my producer. Things between us have always been---"

"Complicated?" Luke offers. Abbie gives a small grateful smile.

"For lack of a better word." 

Luke watches her face carefully as she takes shirt, neatly folding it and putting it away.

"Abbie,"

"We…..were together once. That song he quoted to you….I helped him with it one day in the studio and……"

He rubs her arm gently. "It was about you." 

Abbie doesn't answer, simply turns around and moves her hair out of the way. Tentatively Luke reaches for the zipper, drawing it down slowly. "And that's all there is to it? a brief stint in the music biz?"

No. "Yes" Abbie nods. 

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me,"

"You've never been over fond of music,"

"That's irrelevant as it pertains to you Abbie. I don't want you keeping things from me, to ever feel like you can't be yourself with me," his lips brush her shoulder gently. "I don't want you to have any doubts--"

"I don't have---"

"There's still something between you two."

A storm, maybe. A nuclear war, possible. But not what he's getting at---she hopes not---she's not up to that sort of emotional struggle. Words stick in her throat. 

Luke pauses, considering the potent silence before getting to his feet and pulling Abbie up with him, he finishes shimmying her out of her dress, hangs it up on the doorknob. Abbie reaches up to kiss him but he draws away. Fear settles in her stomach. His eyes stare deeply into hers. "That call tonight was about my grandmother. She's not well."

"I'm sorry to hear that," 

Luke shakes his head and grasps one of her hands in his. "I'm….I'm going to go visit with them. Tomorrow" 

***********************  
April 2005

"Abbie," he says softly, presses his mouth to hers. "I leave tomorrow,"

***********************  
Present day July 2015

Panic surges through her veins. "I'm coming back I swear," Luke assures when he sees her eyes widen. 

"I'll come with you,"

"No. No. I---I want to give you some time Abbie. To think."

"I don't need time to think Luke. I'm fine. We're fine."

He presses her hand to his cheek. "Just a moment for you to relax. The finer details are already set. I can't put you through the stress of visiting my sick relatives right now."

"We're going to be husband and wife, Luke. That's what the job calls for,"

He smiles softly. "It's not a job, Abbie, you don't clock in and clock out. It's work, but….it's not that. Listen. I love you." He kisses her and pulls her down on the bed. "But I need you to be sure about what you want and who you are. I need to be sure of that. I'll be just a phone call away." 

"There's nothing else Luke, there's nothing else you need to know,"

"Who are you trying to convince?" 

Her words die. When Luke kisses her, it is passionate and tastes of desperation and doubt. 

I'm sorry, she thinks as she climbs on top of him, kissing him again, each one trying so hard to assure the other it will be okay, no mistakes are being made. I'm sorry I've given you any reason to feel this way, as she encourages him to touch her, kiss her to feel because they both need to feel sure right now. Need to chase away fears with kisses and second thoughts with fervent strokes and touches. 

To be anchored by the present of them being together.

Without that Abbie fears a revolt of her mind, of that fickle organ that pumps her blood that might make her want to take flight. 

**********************  
"How'd it go?" Frank inquires as Abraham returns.

"It was…..eventful. Where's Ichabod?"

"Over here Abraham," Ichabod is sitting in the exact spot that he left him in. 

"No trouble?" 

Frank shakes his head. "Not a one. Sat there and wrote the whole time. I watched TV. Talked about his job at SHU, the usual pleasantries, not an uttering of self harm. Basically I spent the night being a sixteen year old girl who so had better things to do on a friday night than babysit the troublesome neighbourhood menace," Abraham grins.

"I thank you for insuring the safety of my friend." he clasps Franks hand tightly. "You have no idea,"

"Loving those near to us isn't an easy job. But someones got to do it. Tell me more about your eventful night,"

"Yes Abraham, how was your evening?" he asks.

"I ran into your Miss Mills again tonight. How's that for a start?"

The way both Frank and Ichabod looked at him told Abraham he wasn't about to get any sleep any time soon.

In the morning his phone buzzed.

"Hello?"

"Abraham?"

"Mr. Angel?"

"Orion," he corrects. 

"How did you---"

"You don't exactly live under a rock. You weren't hard to find. Anyway, let's talk about getting you on my talent search." 

"But--"

"You've got talent. Got the schooling and experience to back it up. You have accomplishments. You don't need me to tell you that. But you also have taste. And I appreciate you stepping in last night. It wasn't your fight, but everyone loves a peace keeper. Besides, the story is already running on ET. You might as well use the spin to garner fan support." 

"ET?" Abraham repeats. Feeling like the world as he knew it as inverted.

"the shots are blurry but that's you in there. Anyway. I've got to find four or so other acts to round out the roster if you will."

"How many will there be?"

"Seven. Lucky number Seven. It's gonna be a busy couple of weeks. Concise, cutthroat. Guts and heart. I'll be in touch."

Click.

"Abraham?"

He looks up to find Crane standing in his doorway. "I've been wondering…." he purses his lips together. "What do you mean by calling her 'your muse'?"

**************************************

Abbie rolls over in the morning and is alone in the bed, but not alone in the room. Luke glances over at her and smiles brightly, last night nothing more than a disturbance. "Morning Sleepy Head," 

Abbie props her head on her palm and watches him as he finishes dressing, comes over to the bed to slip on his shoes. He looks over at her as he wrestles them and winks and Abbie winks back.

See, she sighs to herself. This is easy. This is simple and straightforward. Why on EARTH would anyone want to screw with this? 

It's easy enough if you get your head in the game Mills. Keep it together. Let the past lie. Let everything bygone die a quietly in the before and set up shop for tomorrows.

"Are you humming?" Luke interrupts, squinting at her. 

"What?"

"You were humming. That song from last night. It was yours, wasn't it?"

"When will you be back?"

"I want to listen to it one day"

Abbie makes a noncommittal sound and rolls over in the bedding. She feels the weight of him lying down behind her, pulling her close, still tangled up in the sheets. "Take it easy, okay? Two days, three? You'll barely miss me." 

"Miss who?" Abbie snarks and Luke laughs before kissing her shoulder. 

"See you soon babe," 

**************************

As Abbie slips back into her dress and gathers her keys she notices she still has Calvin's car keys. Her phone rings. "Mills," she answers.

"Abs?"

"Hey Jenny,"

"You alright? what happened last night?"

"Fell out with Orion, came back here and had this weird talk with Luke," she says as she hunts around for her shoes. 

"Talk? what kind of talk?"

"All of this, 'I want you to be sure of who you are and what you want' life journey nonsense," she huffs.

"He's just feeling a little weird about you keeping a secret, which I told you not to do" Jenny hedges. 

"I told you so, yeah yeah I get it," Abbie grouches, swiping her keys and Calvin's. "Anyway, he's just left, grandma Morales is sick."

"You didn't go with?"

"Told me to stay. More of that figuring myself out stuff."

"Nice of him to give you space like that though,"

"I was under the impression that you were strictly anti-morales"

"I'm pro anyone who tries to do right by you, regardless of previous opinions," 

Abbie rolls her eyes at her contrary sisters explanation. "I've gotta return Calvin's car anyway, I took it last night to deal with Orion, but then we fought and I just…..left him in the street."

"Run. Hurricane Abbie coming through."

"Shut up."

"I can meet you at Calvin's? would be nice to see him again."

"Fine, sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get around to what Ichabod was up to that entire time.....just not yet. 
> 
> Also, Calvin flashback coming up soon!


	22. Snapshots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calvin centric, another moment in time when Abbie found an outlet of sorts.
> 
> Ichabod and Abraham catch footage of the fight on television.

November 2013

It starts with Abbie playfully picking up one of his cameras and angling at him. Directing him to strike this pose and that one, positioning him just so on his dining room chair. 

"Marvellous darling, perfection," she purrs and Calvin smirks at her, leaning forward with one foot up on the rung of the seat and his arm slung across it. 

"You sure you didn't miss your calling?"

Abbie saunters towards him, pops a few buttons on his shirt, pulling it apart to expose his chest. She draws a line on the exposed skin and pecks the corner of his mouth before darting back away from him and taking a few more shots. "Wall," she instructs and Calvin feigns exasperation as he drags himself over. "Hands in your pockets," she instructs. "Tilt your head forward, there. right. there," Snap snap snap.

"Am I going to get a chance to see any of these?" he cajoles but Abbie shushes him as she navigates through the screens to admire her handiwork. 

"No no, these are for my private collection," she teases wickedly. 

"Oh?" Calvin leans off the wall, taking the camera from her and then flushes. "You know, I've never liked being photographed?"

Abbie flops down on the couch. "How come?"

"Braces growing up, worst afro, couldn't afford the high powered prescription I needed in thin lenses, so coke bottle frames which looked horrendous"

Abbie cracks up laughing at the image. She is no stranger to bad pictures. In their youth Jenny had fancied herself a budding hairstylist. She has always been grateful that Mama kept a few wigs that had looked decent on her. There was also the time that there had been food stuck in her teeth during grade four picture day. No to mention the high resemblance she bore to a mole if she was caught with her eyes shut. 

Calvin's eyes sparkle as he watches her laugh. There is something magical about Abbie's laugh. It opens up her whole face, it comes bubbling up from deep inside of her and fills the room. The hearty carefree melodious joy of it. His phone is the nearest thing at hand since Abbie took over his best equipment and he angles it just right and snaps a shot of her, mid chortle and smiles. That's for my private collection, he thinks.

"Hey, what are you smiling about over there?" she calls quickly crossing the room to him. Abbie is playful with Calvin where she isn't anywhere else. She borders on the person she was in her youth, a foolish thing she allows, because she is sure she can't possibly get hurt by Calvin. They are a casual thing, exclusive, but casual. Absurdly, she takes comfort in the eventuality that at any moment, their time together can be interrupted. 

There is little danger of her hoping for too many tomorrows. Little chance of her becoming too invested and giving wing to any hopes. So she is near the edges of reason with him. She laughs, teases, tries more adventurous things. They play. They chase each other around his town house and tackle one another to the couch. They dance in the kitchen when they get a chance to make dinner, and jokingly run out on the other in the morning as if this is all an enjoyable game calling with a wicked grin "It was great, until next time!" accompanied by a bright smile, enthusiastic wave, and rapid fire text exchanges throughout the day. Abbie has lost count of how many times she has stifled a snicker as she reads through her messages. 

She sparks with Calvin. A fun, glittering thing like sparklers on a summer night. Carefree, brief. Exciting, new, beginning. 

Nothing like the spark she has with Orion, a sputtering shocking thing that could catch and start a forest fire. 

Nothing like the spark she had with Crane, that chased away her grief, shadows, that had cast her life in sharp relief and then guttered out abruptly, searing her skin and leaving her in cold unforgiving darkness.

Calvin is quick pleasant multicoloured bursts, predictable when they fade, but no less fun to ignite. 

Being with Calvin has been like living her life in snapshots. A collection of moments; only good times to be had, only good memories to remember. He is a yearbook of the carefree reckless abandon that she allows herself, like a midnight snack, a book she can open and shut. He is the heartfelt messages scribbled on the covers and hidden among pages, the genuinely sweet moments, when he meets her after work or he finds some recipe he's dying to prepare for her, planning a night at a local film festival where he doesn't care if she dresses up, because he's got some odd little token he's created from pictures to pin on her jacket or in her hair. She learned early on Calvin had a gift for paper crafts. She was never low on butterflies and birds tucked in her bag or nestled somewhere in her car. They were always pictures. Sunrises. Sunsets. Light breaking through a canopy of leaves. Quick sneaky shots he's taken of her when she was still asleep. Her boots kicked carelessly besides his shoes at his front door. 

It's really very sweet.

She peeks over his shoulder at the image of her with her mouth open, teeth glinting. "Oh no," she groans, reaching for the phone but he waves it out of reach. "Delete it Riggs!" she threatens, but the amusement in her eyes betrays her. "I could take such a better picture," she protests, not for the first time. Sweet as the photos of her slumbering may be, Abbie still likes to have control over her image, if she can. One thing to accidentally catch her being strong. Another to catch her being vulnerable. 

"I dare you to beat this pose," Calvin teases.

Impulsiveness makes her whip her shirt over her head, shaking her hair free of her pinned back style and deliberately sliding a strap down her shoulder. She tips her chin up at him, pleased that Calvin is at a loss for words. "Tell me this isn't a better shot." she challenges. 

"I'm not taking a picture of you like that,"

"Why not?"

"Because I'd stare at it all day,"

"Then you should take multiples so you have some variety," her eyes glint with mischief. 

It's strange, for Abbie to offer herself in this way. To hand herself over. Calvin has caught glimpses of course. Moments that held Abbie back, her nervous nature if he mentions 'their future' in passing. Like taking a trip next year, or planning a family meet and greet. Abbie likes to catch things more than she likes to be caught. 

So it's odd now, for her to look at him, smouldering eyes, half undressed for all the world she is screaming 'capture me' So he tells her to stay right, there, don't move. He retrieves his camera that she has now abandoned and he starts picking his angles. He goes for his spot lights and sets the brightness right, he brings over the stool and throws a white cloth on it, sets up shop like he's doing a photo shoot, something for a magazine or editorial. He snaps her there, where she stands, and then gently, hands on her hips manouvers her to the stool. "Are you okay?" he asks, checking as he backs up, taking in the whole frame, because this is big. Taking a picture of someone in this way, it's personal, it's intimate, it involves a great deal of trust and Abbie hasn't really demonstrated a willingness in that department. They'd have met his parents by now were that the case. But maybe she needs this for herself, He thinks as Abbie nods the affirmative, tossing her hair and gripping the stool with her legs on either side. So bare, he thinks, so open. She's trying, he realizes in that moment. Abbie is testing the waters, seeing how much she can trust herself to let go. She hasn't found another way to be present and raw since her CD had dropped, to little acclaim nearly five years ago---Calvin doesn't know that---but maybe here, here might be another place to speak through body, rather than voice. A little less draining on her part, a little more nuanced. She doesn't have to work so hard to tell the story here. Let Calvin tell it, let him try his hand at narrating her unique experiences through frame after frame. If he's up to it. She cocks a brow at him in question and he swallows hard, and snaps. Snap. 

She turns, facing the screen, only thing he can see is her hair tumbling down her back. Snap. She pulls her hair forward, now there's just the back of her bra. Snap. She reaches up behind her and he catches a shot of her hands just reaching for the clasp, several more rapid takes as she unhooks, releases, falls away, dangling it on her fingers. Nothing but her bare back facing him. A profile shot of her shielding herself, two more as she plays with her expressions. A full turn, legs closed, bare bosom facing him. He stops. 

"Use the sheet on the stool," he instructs. Not because she isn't beautiful, but he has some strange need to protect her modesty. He's afraid of exposing too much, that at some point she might look back on this and say he took advantage. Abbie glares at him and doesn't move.

"This is me," she says bravely, her eyes watering but determined. "Take the picture," he keeps snapping as tears roll down her face, she keeps twisting and turning, in these provocative, beautiful ways that when compounded by the heat in her eyes, makes a storm brew inside of him. He could get shipwrecked watching her. They are not in his living room but some strange shapeless place where she is leading him along a mysterious path, led only by image after image. She throws her hands on either side of her head, as if being held by invisible shackles. 

She crosses her hands behind her back, as if handcuffed, with her back arched in profile. The shadow from one of the lights casts an eerie looking image---like a weapon raised, poised at her chest, at her heart--he pauses, considers telling her to move. It is too naked. Too horrible. Too foretelling, or revealing, the overall scene rendering Abbie a willing victim to a shadow assailant. But Abbie doesn't relent. Maybe she knows how terrifying it is, but doesn't care. "Go on," she tells him and Calvin takes the shot, utterly entraced by the way she moves and the wars that rage across the planes of her face. Eventually Abbie divests herself of her pants, stripping layer after layer, her last pose is of her sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes gazing at his, and then a smile breaks across her face, an open, wide, unexpected smile. 

This exercise has helped her go back to her darkness, and allowed her to dig her way back out to the light again. If only briefly. A bandage. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with emotion when it's all over and Calvin drapes a blanket around her. 

He wants to make love to her. To taste the path of tears, to tumble the words of her story on his tongue, trace fingers along the illustrations she has just painted for him. But he doesn't. He doesn't try to cheapen or redirect this moment of openness and truth to his own means. He twines his fingers with her and kisses her knuckles. 

"You are a brave and beautiful woman," he says. 

Abbie breathes in deeply and nods. "Only sometimes," she replies. "Only once in a while."

There are more impromptu shoots after this. More fun liberated silly ones. More deliberately staged and elaborately made up. Sometimes they end in bed. Sometimes they end on the couch, watching bad television. 

But never again is any session so heated and revealing as the Captive Shoot. That's what he calls it in his head, that's the file name. 

For on that night he was held captive by Abbie, as he watched her struggle, fight, and embrace what had captured her. 

Holds her captive still.  
******************************  
July 2015

Calvin answers the door to Abbie and Jennifer Mills on the other side. Abbie dangles his keys before him, he looks past her shoulder to his car, safely put away. "Come on in," he invites, though he sees the moment when Abbie's face falters, when she fights against the urge to turn on her heel and walk away. A smile spreads, nothing like the ones he's captured in the past, nothing like the incredible triumphant one from that first night she had let him shoot her properly. 

"Calvin" Jenny throws her arms around him and he embraces her jovially before drawing Abbie into a gentle side hug before she drifts out of his grasp and into the living room She still knows his place so well.She admires the new work he's done, all in silence. 

"You've been busy," she says at last, an air of admiration in her tone. 

"Nothing but free time," Calvin replies, watching as Jenny joins her. "That's from march," he comments "When we were out in the desert,"

"How long have you been back?" 

"About May,"

"This year?"

Calvin avoids her gaze. "2014, actually. I've left during that time too, to and fro, you know how it is."

Abbie cocks a brow at him. "And you didn't even think to say hello?"

"I'd heard you were seeing someone by then. I have no interest in starting drama,"

"No interest in putting up a fight," Abbie concludes and it vexes him, she of all people doesn't get to make assumptions about what he did and didn't fight for. He'd tried that conversation with Abbie, and she had gladly let him go. 

"Maybe," he concedes, because he's just as uninterested in arguing with her. True, he could have tried more. He could have. But he remembered the night when they'd shot Captive, the trust it had taken for her to allow him to see that side of her, immortalizing it, his gratitude that she had given him that gift----it had seemed a gift of sorts not to interfere when she had moved on. It had only seemed fair to let her continue moving forward. 

He wouldn't hold that night over her head, no, he wouldn't dredge it up and play games with her sense of rationality and heart the way Orion did with her music. He wasn't going to tie Abbie up, as if she owed him something for that secret peek at who she was inside. Calvin isn't going to explain that to her, isn't going to paint himself a martyr of his own heart, the way Orion always will. 

While in his thoughts Abbie winds up at his fridge. "Hey," he calls and Abbie smiles over her shoulder at him.

"I'm starving," she replies as she grabs herself a yogurt. 

"Why don't you guys sit down and I'll make a real breakfast, hmm?"

Jenny plunks down obediently and Abbie rolls her eyes. 

"So," he starts as he takes out the eggs. "I hear congratulations are in order?"

Abbie sighs, "Yes I'm---"

She gets cut off by Jenny answering the phone. As her bridesmaid, Jenny has all but taken over Abbie's wedding. She doesn't say so but Jenny's dedication to a perfect wedding day soothes her conscience over the years she left Abbie alone. She will be there there there for Abbie at this milestone---so she's been handling most things, Abbie had input of course, plenty, but Jenny has been following up and budgeting and cancelling or what have you. 

"Bad news," she says. "Photographer went mountain climbing. Broke both his arms and a leg, can't shoot for your wedding Abs,"

Abbie groans. Just this morning Luke had assured her everything would be find while he was gone. Already a wheel has come off. Calvin cracks eggs and whisks in a bowl and turns towards them, still whisking.

"I could shoot," he volunteers. 

"No"

"Yes" the Mills sisters give opposing answers.

"No charge," Calvin assures. "Consider it a wedding gift,"

"I couldn't possibly," Abbie shakes her head.

"Yeah, Luke might not be thrilled, knowing that you two used to, you know,"

"Oh," nodding he turns back to the frying pan, pours the eggs in and begins folding. "I mean, I wouldn't tell. No strings attached. You get decent photos, keep the money in your pocket,"

"I'd tell him." Abbie speaks up and meets Jenny's inquisitive gaze. "He doesn't want me keeping things from him, so, I'll tell him."

"Besides," Calvin plates the omelettes and offers them to each sister. "I know all your best angles," he waggles his brows at her and cracks a smile. Abbie pouts at him before breaking into laughter.

"Thanks for the food, Riggs,"

"Anytime, Mills," 

*********************  
"I meant her voice, obviously," Abraham rallies, pushing past Crane in his doorway. " Her voice at the time inspired me, the words, the heart…..finding out it's about you---"

"Exactly how did you figure that out?" Crane wheedles. "How did you get that CD?"

"It was in her things. Katrina's things, back when I was cleaning your stuff out---"

"You stole from my dead wife?"

"Really now, stole?" Abraham counters, clearly affronted. Harrumphing Crane follows him into the kitchen. 

"Long term borrowed then? Anyway, go on about her being your Muse."

"Are you picking a fight with me? because I am not in the mood Ichabod," 

Crane purses his lips together and turns on the television. 

"Top producer Orion Angel was caught in the middle of a fall out last night while scouting talent," a female announcers voice pipes into the room. Abraham freezes with his mug of coffee in hand, Crane regards the screen with interest. "Angel is said to be launching a show this summer in his hometown of Sleepy Hollow called Seven Sleepy Stars, a four week blitz that will feature local talent chosen by audience votes and lastly himself. Unlike most shows, Angel is selecting candidates himself as opposed to the open audition process. He was scouting last night when an argument erupted during a coffeehouse hour." Abraham approaches the screen, hands Ichabod the cup of coffee in his hand. Crane takes it, murmuring a quiet, 'thank you' but both are held in thrall of the sudden footage of Abraham filling the screen---though blurred--blocking punches and followed by Orion's fist surging through the frame and knocking his opponent to the ground. "It's just been announced that the man seen protecting Orion is local Sleepy Hollow's own shining star Abraham Van Brunt and he will be appearing on Angels new show after a stunning rendition of Angel's early work."

Both men heave sighs of relief that no one mentions specifically that it was Abbie's song. But then more footage rolls, of Abraham on the stool, singing his heart out, and Ichabod nudges his friend, all previous hostility forgotten. Though it grates on him that the song being sung IS Abbie's and that it IS about him. 

"Well done," he musters a smirk. Abraham smiles back at him before they hear the other voice that cuts in, joining his. Their eyes widen as the shot pans to a woman in a white fringe dress singing along with him. She's caught only from the back. No one could identify her. But they both know that's Abbie in the shot.

"A member of the audience was so moved she joined in! What a fabulous duet!"

And it is lovely, to be sure, their voices are uniquely suited to each other. Then it pans back to Orion throwing the punch and the story continues. 

"Well, I suppose I'm going to find my attempts to reconcile with Miss Mills thwarted," Crane mutters at last, drinking from his mug. 

"What do you mean?" 

Crane gestures toward the screen. "You're going to go after her."

"I am going to help you find peace," Abraham insists. 

Crane considers the beautiful harmony he just heard between Abbie and his best friend. "You keep telling yourself that."


	23. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Orion is a persistent man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update and super quick chapter because I wanna get into setting up some other events (making things a mess basically) this chapter is mainly just moving a couple things along. 
> 
> more updates later this week. I apologize for this one being messy. 
> 
> all present day 2015

As Abbie and Jenny say their goodbyes at the door Calvin pulls Abbie back quickly. "I didn't use those shots, by the way," he tells her. "Of last night," 

"I'm sorry I was so abrupt with you. It was just a very high stress situation. Thanks for lending me your car."

"Where was your ride anyway?"

"In the shop. And I didn't think it was prudent to drive off in Luke's car to handle that blowhard."

"You keep interesting company, you know that Mills?"

Abbie smirks at him. "What do you mean by it Riggs?"

"Moths to a flame." the door whispers shut as she turns away, getting in the car with Jenny she cricks her neck and rubs her eyes. 

"Can you drop me off at the station? I've got work to catch up on,"

"Sure Abs,"

****************************  
It's the second day since Luke left for his grandmothers, after the fiasco at coffeehouse, and so far, no further incidents. The town is busy though, bustling with energy. Orion's show has Sleepy Hollow whipped into a frenzy, local businesses trying to get a spot in the advertisement slots, hopefuls performing in all of the strangest places, hoping to catch Orion's amber eyes. Abbie studiously ignores it all, today's just another day of work for her, a perfectly normal, unaffected day up until four o'clock when Frank looms over her at her desk.

"Afternoon Mills,"

"Captain," she greets. 

"You've got a new assignment."

"So long as it doesn't interfere with my wedding I'm game," she replies, looking up at him pleasantly. 

Frank rubs his hands together " I'm glad to hear that, because now you can't back out."

"uh oh," she chuckles. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"A cushy job, to be honest." Frank rocks back on his heels. "You weren't even my first choice, BECAUSE your wedding is this month, I figured it would be too much on your plate."

Abbie drops her pen. "What made you change your mind?" she asks tentatively, an odd shiver running down her spine. A premonition.

Frank grimaces. "A special request. You've been called on for the Sleepy Star Seven or whatever the hell it's called security detail,"

Abbie leaps up from her desk, slamming her hands on the table. "Excuse me?"

"Angel requested you, personally. Keep the performers and audience safe, perimeters secure,"

"You can't be serious. I'm not doing it Frank I'm not," she takes a moment to catch her breath. He's just trying to mess with me, she thinks, he's just trying to get under my skin and damn if he doesn't know how to do it. "There are plenty of other qualified, even willing people who would take this job---"

Frank sighs, and something crosses his face that at first Abbie doesn't recognize until it settles in his eyes. Desperation. Hope. "If you don't do it, he threatened to pull the plug on the show. You know a lot of people, they're very excited at the chance at a big break down here. The attraction, having people fly in to watch the final shows, the tourism, advertising. You've been outside today haven't you?" 

"Sleepy Hollow has thrived and flourished for years without Orion's influence, we don't need him now---"

"Please Mills," he grumbles, turning away from her. 

"What?"

"Macey got on the show," he explains in a rush. Abbie goes very still. 

"Macey?" she repeats. She twiddles a finger in her ear. "I'm sorry did you say Macey?"

"She likes to play the grands in the music stores, they let her, great way to demonstrate their instruments, we were there yesterday, picking up her newest exam books and she was playing, singing a little too, softly, you understand---but all of a sudden He was there, telling her he wants her to take part. I never thought my girl had musical dreams but her eyes lit up like Christmas morning."

"It would mean a lot to her," Abbie surmises, her heart sinking. 

"I'm not proud of putting you in this position. I'm not. I'm really not. And you can call it an abuse of power and report me to higher ups if you want to. But….well he offered his ultimatum right there once he'd gotten our names, learned I was Captain, and she begged me to find a way to give her a shot at this….newly found dream of hers. She's my baby girl, you understand."

Abbie nods, feeling deflated, defeated, so proud of Macey but so sorry for herself. "I get it Frank. You love your little girl. Give her the world if you could. And this contest is her version of the world right now, isn't it." 

"I'm sorry Mills. I'll figure out a way to work a bonus and some extra vacation time in there"

Abbie gives him a salute and grabbing her jacket makes her exit. 

She has never felt so furious and all she wants, no what she needs right now, is a good, stiff, drink. Something to get her out of her mind drunk so she can spend the night explicitly cursing Orion's meddling, infuriating, existence. She is storming down the street, anger rolling off of her in waves.

She'd told him to stay out of her way. So what does he do? Figures out a way to put Abbie in his. The sly conniving son of a---

"Abbie?" 

She pauses to look up into the pale green eyes that have suddenly appeared beside her. "Whoa. If looks could kill,"

Abbie laughs, a dark hollow sound. "Oh I know exactly who I'd use it on. Congratulations by the way, getting on the show. Your star pupil is going to be on it too,"

Abraham blinks in surprise. "Macey?"

Abbie's mouth quirks up at the corner, it's kinda a sweet that he assumes it's Macey automatically, that he knows she's the only one talented enough to garner attention. "Yep that's her."

"Macey Irving? You know the Irvings?"

"Frank's my boss," she hisses, flabbergasted that this man could be so perplexed that they know the same people. Sleepy Hollow is a small town. 

But then, they'd been sharing this town for years and had never crossed paths until recently. 

"Frank's a friend of mine! Small world!"

Abbie thinks of Orion constantly interfering and Calvin suddenly manifesting, Crane appearing to her like the most unwelcome of phantoms, and now Abraham, looking at her with innocent joy in his eyes and she can't help but agree. 

Too. Damn. Small.

"You hungry?" he asks suddenly. "You look like you've been put through the ringer, no offence."

"None taken,"

"Come on, I know a little hole in the wall place. Best food, better booze."

"How could you tell I needed to get hammered?" 

He gives her a withering glance as he walks ahead. "I have worn that expression many time in my life. There are people in this world who could drive you to drink," he says knowingly, thinking of the few times when he'd found his own solace in a bottle, feelings all mottled up in the late nights when Crane had proved exceedingly difficult during the silent period. 

Abbie watches him carefully out the corner of her eye. There's something in the distance in his voice, the sense that he's remembering something dark and better left alone that makes her skin itch. 

Burdens are like that. They call to each other. Abbie can't know that her and Abraham tote similar baggage with them, entertain the same sort of ghosts at night. 

She can't know that agreeing to grab a bite with an absolute stranger given how disastrous the past couple of days has been, that this is a very, very, very bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once more apologies for the mess! 
> 
> I'll clean up nice and give you something polished and better later! I swear! just need to keep the ball rolling. Spinning the web, if you will.


	24. Two Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse of the future. 
> 
> Abbie has some news to deliver, but memory makes it difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, to be honest. Angst and fluff.
> 
> And I'm a horrible person. So this is a PAINFULLY SHORT chapter, for which I apologize. I just feel it needed to stand on it's own. More updates this week, hopefully!

Future 2018

Two words. Two words that she'd never had the chance to say before. That had lodged in her throat, cutting off her air, sliding down into her stomach like heavy cold lonely stones, weighing her down with names they'd never have and haunted by the ghosts of who they might become. Abbie has never known that she could fear words so much. That bringing herself to utter them fills her with unmentionable terror. She wills herself to believe that this time will be different. 

That she won't be left devastated, alone, mourning all over again. 

They say history repeats itself. 

But if this is one of those instances. If her tragedy is destined to recur, Abbie is resolved to her fate. She was wounded once. Surely, this time, if it goes badly now---if he runs away she'll be destroyed, demolished and beyond repair. The stretch of silence draws him into the room. 

"Abbie?" he asks, approaching her slowly, cautiously. "Abbie?" he calls again. 

Abbie shudders, her whole body shakes, she starts to heave. She's having a panic attack. His arms are around her before her knees give way beneath her, and he holds her on the floor, caresses her mass of curls and rocks her gently. "It's okay, it's okay," he says, his voice so warm and close and it's in her ears, in her heart, and it's because he is, at this moment, he is a deeper part of her than ever before. "I love you, I love you Abbie, but you've got to tell me what's wrong. Sweetheart?"

Abbie shakes her head furiously. "I can't," she chokes. It is cruel how fresh the hurt can be all over again. How it can still sneak up on her and tighten around her heart like an unyielding vice, squeezing and squeezing. 

"Breathe, Abbie. Please. Breathe," he leans back from her, thumbs away the tears that run silently down her face. "What is it?" 

But she can't, she can't. She's paralyzed by the memory of her darkness, how far she has come to escape it, to triumph and conquer it--she is ashamed that she is so easily reduced to that moment in time. That present day joy can be overwhelmed by past tense sorrow. She reaches for his hand and guides it, silently, slowly to it's destination. It rests there a moment, her hand over his, staring into each other's eyes. Suddenly his gaze brims with tears. "Oh sweetheart." 

She breathes. 

Abbie hiccups and splutters and keeps heaving but among those erratic, frantic actions are a few real breaths, disbelieving, hopeful, relieved. He gently grasps her chin. "Please say it"

"I can't," she insists.

"I need you to, please Abbie, I love you I'm not going anywhere." 

Two words. 

Two words that she couldn't bring herself to say before, and it shattered her world.

These same two words, now can make it, his world, THEIR world. 

This time these words are for them both. A gift. A blessing. A joy. 

He kisses her hand and pulls her close, her head rests against his chest, hearing the comforting thump of his heartbeat--it will beat with her from now on, he is becoming part of her with every second. "I'm still here. I'm still yours. You are still mine. I hear you, I do. You've never been clearer, but you need to say it, you need to lay claim to those words and make them your own. This is your joy to announce now, be brave. I love you Abbie. I'm right here."

She grips his shirt in her hands and mutters incoherently into his chest. 

"Again love."

More muffled sounds, raspy squeaky things.

"I can't hear you"

"I'm pregnant,"

"Louder,"

"I'm pregnant!" she yells at last, frustrated with his persistence but then she sees the tears running down his face. "Sentimental fool," she murmurs as she kisses his cheek and his arms lock around her. 

"You're pregnant." he says in wonder---all of that prompting and building her up and now it's as if he can't believe it. "I'm actually thrilled don't let the tears fool you," he says as he kisses her hair. "I just----it's such a gift, and I've always wanted this and Abbie, Abbie I know how hard, how conflicting it must have been for you. I know you must have been so afraid but I swear to you, you will never be alone again. Never." 

"I'm pregnant," she repeats softly, amazed at the warmth and lightness that spreads through her heart the more the words pass her lips. The more real it becomes in every second. "I'm….I'm going to be.......you're gonna be…."

"A family." and then his mouth is on hers, the kiss is salty from their tears but so perfect and beautiful in their hearts. He kisses her again and again, her cheeks her eyelids, her neck, and her breath catches for a new reason. He looks up at her. "Surely you didn't think I would stop wanting you,"

"I love you," she whispers, her eyes twinkling as she moves in for another kiss and he pulls back at the last moment.

"Guess what," 

Abbie huffs as she wraps her arms around his neck. "What,"

The smile that spreads across his face makes Abbie feel absolutely silly for ever being afraid, for ever doubting him. He winks at her. "You're pregnant!"


	25. A Hole In The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe and Abbie grab a bite. 
> 
> Meanwhile at home, Ichabod well.....someone requested a haunting at one point, so here goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter took a weird turn. 
> 
> It's NOT going to become a ghost story. 
> 
> It's NOT going to become a magic/adventure one
> 
> My imagination just sorta, ran away with me here. 
> 
> I'll level out and get back to a sensible place, I promise!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! <3

Present day 2015

Abbie's impatience turns to amusement quickly as she watches Abraham fumble and fondle the same wall Hawley had been trying to 'unlock' the other night. They'd walked a few blocks to the destination, carrying on in awkward surface chatter---lovely weather today---town is so busy setting up----how've you been, you know, since the coffeehouse blowout. 

"Well," Abraham grunts and he throws his weight against the wall, clearly distracted by his efforts. 

"I am born and raised in this town." Abbie says finally. "If there was a secret passageway behind that wall I'd----" she cuts off abruptly and stares in bewilderment as the solid wall suddenly sinks inward, leaving a crevice just big enough to slip through. Abraham casts her a triumphant grin before flattening him self and edging inwards. Abbie steps cautiously forward, checking the street to see if anyone else is witnessing this impossible feat. This is not platform 9 and 3/4 she chants to herself. This is not an illusion. I am not asleep. This is not some fantastical dream---but the reality is that it is IMPOSSIBLE for her not to have a clue about this place after a lifetime in Sleepy Hollow. 

"Are you coming?" his voice calls to her, muffled because she suspects he's still wedged in the small space and his hand appears in the slot, his fingers wriggling towards her. 

Abbie can't imagine what reason he would have to attack her, but she thinks it's important to inform him she is armed and could seriously injure him be this some sort of trick or ambush. "I'm armed," she says, her voice clear and stern.

The fingers pause, mid wriggle, vanish and then with a grunt his face appears again. He looks her over, takes in the uniform, the holster at her hip. "So you are. You are equipped to stop me in my tracks if I decide to attack you. Perfect, so there's no reason not to trust yourself---since you don't trust me yet" he pauses, cocking his head to the side. "Unless you're scared? claustrophobic?I didn't even consider it, sorry," and he means it, he honestly thinks that might be a reason Abbie is hesitant in following him, he readily begins shuffling back out of the crevice but curiosity gets the better of her.

"No, stop wait. I'm coming, edge on back…..that way," she motions and Abraham gives her a quizzical look before going back the way he came, hand extended once more Abbie steps up, grasps it, and let's him tug her along inside the whole before the wall groans and slides itself back into place. Then there is only a dimly lit chamber. "Is that a torch?" she asks incredulously. 

Nodding Abraham continues walking slowly, carefully, feeling along the wall and testing the ground with his feet. "Always hard to find the steps in here, they only keep the torch so people don't immediately fall down them when they step in."

"What IS this---"

"Whoops," Abraham's foot catches on nothing and he stumbles forward into the shadows below. "Found the steps!" he calls back cheerfully. Abbie peers down into seeming utter and complete darkness. 

"This is a safety hazard." she mutters. "This place is unmarked and we should have a record of it."

"Very by the book," he comments absently as he takes another step down, darkness creeping up around him until he is nothing more than a head and an offered hand once more beckoning for her to follow. "This is one of the rules that people are only allowed in here with company. Buddy system I guess? slightly less likely to hurt yourself. Until you become a regular." 

"You've been here before." she concludes as she ignores the hand and begins tip toeing after him.

"When I came here for my Masters, a colleague of mine mentioned that they have performers here. Regular ones. Not like Coffeehouse, and I landed a gig here for a couple months. It was fun. By the way, Irving already knows about this place." he chuckles. "Told him about it for their anniversary." 

"I'm gonna try this again. What is this place."

She can't see his face for the darkness around them, and quite frankly she's utterly distracted by feeling the steps and following his voice but she's sure he winks as he answers "I told you, A hole in the wall," silence, and then. "Ah, here we go," he stops abruptly and Abbie collides with his back. "Should have warned you about that last step," he raps smartly on the door she can't see.

"Password?"

Abbie rolls her eyes. This place cannot be real. In her hometown? 

Abraham whispers confidentially to the person on the other side before a door opens and they step into golden light.

Abbie gasps. "What the hell"

"Van Brunt" the host greets, slapping him on the shoulder and then notices Abbie. "You brought a friend" his voice is quiet and stealthy, for a moment Abbie wonders if maybe cops aren't welcome in a place like this. That this is the gateway to some exclusive den for thugs and illegal activity----get a grip Mills. She shakes her head.

"More of an acquaintance," Abraham corrects. "She seemed out of sorts."

"You thought bringing her here would help cheer her?" the host raises his brows in question, as if it both a ridiculous and adorable idea. "Well, we shall see what we can do, yes? Where would you like to sit?" 

"The stacks, if we may." 

The host nods in agreement and then Abraham and Abbie walk deeper into the room. 

Wall to wall are shelves upon shelves of books, artifacts, strange tapestries and instruments. The dining area on the ground floor is circular, a mix match of cozy casual and ostentatiously posh there's a great long banquet table surrounded by heavy sturdy, intricately carved wooden chairs, with candles set upon it chandeliers swing overhead, and there's a stage with the usual fare arranged on it. Mic, amps, drums, guitar, piano, accordion, didgeridoo, harp, cello, bass, clarinet, theremin----Abbie's mind whirls as she realizes that the amount of strange and familiar instruments also decorate the walls. They are wedged in carefully among tomes of ancient looking books. Stacked on top of shelves. Aside from the interior being ornate the place is packed. Abbie checks her watch, not even five o clock, but it is bustling with activity. Waiters and waitresses and so many people laughing and chatting as they raise glasses and share decadent foods from great big plates. A group of three spring towards the stage and fiddle with the instruments, no one in the room even caring whether or not they start a set as they listen and pluck and tune until they suddenly seemed to decide on playing a little jazz. Where people aren't feasting, or even where they are, they are surrounded by books and oddities, examining them and making clever remarks that make the others roar with laughter. 

Abbie is sure she's stepped into another world. She recognizes some of the civilians of course, but it's baffling to her that so many of them seemed to know about this secret place and she'd been totally, completely and utterly clueless. 

Abbie follows Abraham and the host as they ascend a winding stair case. Up here the are more shelves of books, but it's less densely populated, there's a balcony overlooking the action below and the host leads them to a seat nearest the edge. "Thank you!" Abraham smiles and the host bows, produces menus and vanishes. Abbie continues to stare at her surroundings before slowly lowering herself into the seat.

"I'm sorry," she laughs nervously. "But how does a place so exclusive, so, hidden, have this many people?"

"It's the culture of the place," he explains. "They like people to know by word of mouth as opposed to advertising and all of that. It's nice, the clientele is based on people personally invited here. Shapes the atmosphere in a unique way. Get a lot of scholars, musicians, generally curious people."

"Is that why you invited me?Because I'm a musician?"

Abraham looks up from his menu, his expression one of calculated surprise. "Are you?" he asks. "Because the idea seemed so offensive to you the other night,"

"That's another thing," Abbie begins, leaning across the table. "You're gonna tell me how the hell you got that CD"

"Found it," he replies casually, because Abraham is sure that mentioning it had been among Ichabod and Katrina's things isn't quite the way he wants to go about this.

"Found it?"

"Among the belongings of a deceased friend. I know what I'm having, you?" 

"You order something," Abbie gazes up at the towering shelve of books behind her. Assessing the damage that would be done to herself and those below should it fall over. There's a chaos about the place that is fascinating…..even somewhat, welcoming. In spite of her unease. The atmosphere is warm. It hums with energy. There is knowledge and creativity bursting through the room. From the surprised sounds patrons make when they take their first bite of the meal, to people curiously perusing shelves while they wait, to the band that's struck up downstairs---it's a laboratory for discovery. It's freedom. 

"What do you think?" he asks, leaning back in his chair.

"That this place is odd,"

Abraham smirks, eyes glinting. "Isn't it? but we're all a little odd. It's this place that has accumulated so much history and experience over the years, people gift books and music, art, all sorts of things to make it the quirky, uninhibited, safe place it is. It's meant to find new things."

"What do they call it here?"

"Can't tell you that," he says, still smiling. "That's the password. Third time visitors only get the password. It's policy."

"This is absurd." 

"All order needs a little chaos." 

"You just better pray I'm not allergic to anything here."

"Besides the dusty books?" his eyes crinkle and Abbie schools her face into an expression of unaffected neutrality. It doesn't hold.

**********************************  
Crane hunkers down at the dining table with a notebook and pen. Starting and scratching. Restarting again. He sighs deeply. This is an exercise he hasn't had the energy nor will to put himself through for years. He'd stopped shortly after Katrina had first taken ill. Had thought it poor judgement to lock himself away or staying up when he could manage, trying to piece together flimsy sentiments and inadequate words that could never express what he felt---could never ask the question that he'd had no right to---abandoning her as he did. 

Today however, as with the day prior, and the day that he was being minded by Frank Irving, he takes a sip of his tea, a deep breath, and tries again.

Two words, come to him.

Simple. Inexcusable. Cold and so bereft of meaning and heart. He knows that universally, they're correct, they serve the purpose---but this is so much larger, heavier, than apology. This is trying to rebuild a bridge brick by brick, trying to prepare an old vessel to be seaworthy again for a long voyage. This is trying to find his way back to the man who had somehow been fortunate enough to know her, betray her, and now insist he grow up. He must perform a heart transplant through time. Take the grieving, conflicted, battered indecisive demon of a thing he had then, and replace it with this soft, strangely barren pump. Finding a balance. 

He hasn't truly felt anything, not from his soul, not in a way that moves him---since Katrina passed. The nightmarish and tedious appointments with doctor Parish aside, he'd found little joy or zest other than to carry on day to day, in a calm, none to threatening fashion. It had been lonely, once Abraham had gone back home. Crane had been sorely tempted more than once to revisit his darkest roads, but his late wife haunted him. As only she could. 'I wish you peace' 'why don't you write?' 'why DIDN'T you write?' 'why didn't you tell me' 'you made decisions for us, Ichabod' 

Crane didn't mention it, doesn't mention it because he fears the speed at which Abraham reaches for the phone to call Parish---but Crane had been sleeping with Katrina's ghost for nearly a year.

She's not a constant bedfellow. But when she came he knew the moment she entered the room, the sudden chill that would blanket him, the marked shift of the mattress as she lay down beside him, whispering the questions, gently, softly, over and over again, lulling him to sleep. She stroked his hair and pressed her icy lips to his neck, but he had already been so successful after enduring Parish's berating tactics, he had been calmly resolved to this new trial. A test of how much he had really changed. He'd thought that after the first three visits, when he didn't go into a rage and curse and demand she stop haunting him that she would have left. 

Instead she got comfy. She would be there, in his chair, poring over his old planners, the ones with notes and entries he had stopped and started. She would lift her head as he walked in, and then go back to her quiet study. There is nothing she doesn't know now. She is dead and his secrets had been long aired before she passed. He ignored her, made himself quick, simple dinners and would suddenly look up to discover that she had gone. 

But it was in April, the month that holds both anniversaries. The month him and Katrina were wed. The month he abandoned Abbie. Before he'd received his offer to teach at SHU that Ichabod was truly deeply unnerved by her visit. 

She came at night. Cold air, and barely there feather light voice. 'The money,' she says simply. He rolls over, away from her spirit, determined tonight to pay her no mind. 'The money' she insists. 'The notes,' her voice becoming a creepy slinking sound in his ear. 'The fund' 'My letter, Ichabod. after so long you will not read my last words to you?'

"You are dead." he answers, forgetting himself. Forgetting the sheer madness that he is conversing with a spirit. 

"So are you," she rasps. "So are they," Ichabod bolts upright, sweating, eyes blinking into the darkness. 

"Who?" he demands of the still air. "Who?"

Then the true haunting begins, the sound of sobbing, wretched, awful crying and then the pages of his planner begins rustling, flipping and flipping until they land on a date in fall. He doesn't keep track anymore, the way he did once, doesn't write anything. But there on the date a delicate hand has written a short message for him. 

They were never one.

Never two.

Never.

The offer to teach at SHU had Ichabod on a plane ready to leave England for good.

He knew, in a vague detached way, that he ought to prepare to run into Abbie---but it had been so long, surely she wouldn't still linger here? But he had underestimated the depth of the devastation. How deep the wound he had cut. He had envisioned, more than once, a second chance, a way to somehow, against all odds…..he doesn't know what…..the same, poor, tawdry two words come back to him now.

Two words that could never be enough, knowing what he does, the knowledge that he cannot erase. The wisdom that Katrina's last visitation had imparted. 

Crane was aware then, and achingly more so now, of what Katrina had been hinting about with money and notes. 

He takes up the pen once more, angrily writing the stupid futile things: I'm Sorry. He glares at it. grumbles and continues to write. 

Dear---No he shakes his head. Miss Mills---no he doesn't have a right to that sort of familiarity anymore. 

Lieutenant Mills. 

I am the greatest of cowards, the lowest of men--if that. I cannot ask forgiveness---I am not deserving. But I will tell you everything. Not for pity. Not to understand. But I owe you this. This is yours to claim……….. the pen takes over then, his heart wakes up, thudding strongly and he is a man possessed as he fills page, after page, after page. 

Katrina hasn't visited him here, under Abraham's roof.

Even in death, her grasp on Ichabod is tenuous, can only reach so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where I'm going with this! Stay with me!


	26. In The Dark I Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easier to talk in the darkness.

"Can you tell me something?" Abbie asks suddenly around a mouthful. 

"Shoot,"

She swallows, drops her napkin on the table and leans back in her chair, assessing him. "You've got a decent set up here, steady gig teaching, performing around town. Why rock the boat with this tv nonsense? I mean, if you don't win, it's not exactly going to be a vote of confidence for your business," 

"I'll always wonder what if, if I don't do it. And why shouldn't I try something different, something new? Familiarity is just an excuse not to run."

Abbie considers his answer purses her lips and nods. "Thanks by the way, for ….leading me here, it's, changed my outlook from earlier, that's for sure." When Abraham smiles Abbie can't help but notice the sparkling white of his teeth. It's an infectious smile, the sort that makes you think you're in on an inside joke. 

"Glad to hear it." He grins. "To be honest, I was headed here to play through some of my stuff for tomorrow. Orion want's us in rehearsals tomorrow afternoon, then we go live tomorrow night." 

Abbie jerks her head toward the stage set up. "Down there?"

"It's a friendly place, a great workshop area, I get tons of feedback, people here know me, I trust their opinion. But then I ran into you." 

"Sorry you couldn't resist the temptation to invite me to a secret underground restaurant that you need a secret password to enter because this town is obviously full over zealous five year olds who still like to play make believe."

Abraham eyes her, clearly bemused before he takes a swig from his glass. "That's a bit harsh don't you think?"

"I call it like I see it."

"No you call it like how you think you should see it." he corrects. "You've been beaming since you came in here. You like it, don't lie."

Averting her gaze Abbie takes interest in one of the books on the shelf. "It grows on you, I suppose," she says as she reaches for the novel and begins to idly flip through it. 

"Now you tell me something," 

Abbie looks over the book at him. "Go on,"

"Why did you stop singing? What made you join me the other night?"

Putting the book back on the shelf is easy. Rising from the table and finding her way back to the stair case, quickly descending them and heading for the exit is easy. Figuring her way up the steps in the dark is not. This is where she curses and grumbles at her maddeningly slow progress until she hears a door slam behind her. Abraham's voice is closer than she'd like it to be in the pitch black corridor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you,"

"It was nice chatting with you, thanks for dinner," her tone is curt as she concentrates on one foot in front of the other. 

"I won't ask again. I won't." a deep sigh and suddenly his footsteps stop. Abbie pauses on the step, hands braced on the wall, listening. 

"Abraham?"

"When I heard your voice, the first time, it woke me from my sleep." 

"Sorry to hear,"

An exasperated groan. "I mean, your songs, your voice, that's what has inspired me to work on my own album, to take a chance like this if I got it. I didn't even know it was you. The damn thing was so old and faded, couldn't read your name, computer wouldn't load artist info, nothing. You were this invisible beautiful voice singing about such heart ache---" he stops himself. He cannot and will not let on that he knows anything about her inspiration now. But he does wonder, if she doesn't want anything to do with music anymore---why had it called to her so strongly that she had sung with him. And didn't she hear it? How perfect and melodious they were? 

Abbie snorts. "You calling me your muse Van Brunt?"

"And what if I am?" he asks boldly. Foot steps shuffle closer up until Abbie knows he is standing right behind her. 

"You're a fool. Now can you get me out of here?"

She feels him chuckle behind her as a hand presses gently on her back and he slips past her. He grabs her hand in his, because everything around her is black she doesn't have time to pull away, and she doesn't protest now, she has no interest in twisting her ankle as she follows closely behind him. 

It's occurs then to Abbie, that this outing was strange. She can't remember the last time she had been so easily persuaded into unfamiliar territory. It had taken no small amount of trash talking on both ends before Abbie had gone out with Luke. Had been years since finishing her recording when she had her studio collision with Orion. Calvin had been a by the books affair. Andy always casual, mutual, nothing strange or new. And Crane…….easy as breathing, natural as waking up in the morning……No, Abbie had always gotten to know the men first, the personality and the little idiosyncrasies they possessed before anything about their surroundings or preferences could say anything about them. 

She'd only considered Calvin 'sweet' months in when she'd found the first origami butterfly in her hair, for instance. 

But this afternoon…..had it only been an hour ago? Abbie is grateful that Abraham can't see her smile. Abraham had let the venue make his introductions. Had let the familiarity with the staff and his penchant for creative open atmospheres inform her opinions of him. They hadn't discussed literature, but she knew now after that visit that he'd probably perused the shelves countless times while enjoying his favourite dish. The way he had gone silent sometimes, listening to the music below she knew that he was always thinking about it, observing the unique timbres each instrument made, a fleeting smile told her that he remembered fondly being on that stage however long ago it was. 

Even his willingness to walk this gloomy corridor time and time again, in order to enjoy the energetic, inspiring atmosphere of this little hidden gem of a place tells her something. 

Abraham will walk through shadows to reach the light. 

Through dark roads and treacherous paths for the reward that lies ahead. 

There's a bravery in that. Small but true, and it strikes Abbie, as she mulls over his questioning her about music and his bringing her here---he believes she is brave too. He had listened to her, her voice, and had been moved by it, had believed she had courage.

She might have believed it too, back then. She'd thought she had conquered her hurt and moved on and was doing a damn good job of it until she'd run into Ichabod the other day. Then the pain had come hurtling back, the terrible helplessness had overcome her, and everything that happened that day had left her in a state of fear. Worrying that the life she had woven, was unravelling. There had been only panic, exhaustion, irritation and fear. But today, just now, so brief was the space in time---she'd forgotten it. Took a small, trivial chance, in trusting this stranger. One might say it was a little daring.

"Here we are," He announces, breaking the silence, and the torch is still lit, casting a soft glow at the top of the stairs but Abbie tugs on his hand, making him stumble backwards and she has to steady him lest they both take a nasty fall as the darkness blankets them again.

"You asked about my music," she speaks into the void. 

It's too quiet, for a moment Abbie wonders if he's slipped away. "I'm listening," he says, his voice closer than she had expected it to be. 

The shadows are forgiving of the way her face might crumble while she speaks of this. They are benevolent to lend her cover while she fumbles through an awkward explanation. In this darkness she can be a little brave. More than she's ever dared. 

"I got myself in a, complicated situation, so to speak, during my undergrad." She swallows around the lump that has suddenly taken form in her throat. "I was young, stupid,---" 

grieving, lonely

"----and I got close to someone, really close---" 

looking back now, I guess I loved him, but I didn't dare tell him that, couldn't allow that, I was still so hurt after Mama died, after Jenny left, what if he left me too.

"well if you play with fire, you'll get burned, right?" she chuckles softly, blinks hard. No. No tears. 

When the fire caught in my heart I'd felt so warm and sure. But then it spread, raging, violent, burning me to the ground from the inside out, and there was nothing but ash and soot left behind. Bare branches. A dry wasteland. 

She feels a gentle pressure on her hand and forgetting the shadows she looks up and somehow she knows he's looking directly at her. 

"It changed me." 

It ruined me.

"And I had no one to tell,"

Mama dead, Jenny gone. Left alone to deal. Cut that wound open again and again crying myself to sleep but never letting anyone else know. Never showing anyone how raw I was.

"It made me angry. It filled me with so many….unnameable emotions. I started running, let off some steam."

No use running from myself I decided to run towards my future. But somewhere in there I ended up running from who I am anyway. I'm so scared of who I am. I am terrified of the amount of tears I can cry. The way my breath halts and scars run deep. I underestimated the strength of my heart once and it aimed to destroy me in grief and sorrow. 

I haven't trusted my heart since.

I don't dare. 

"Orion gave me an outlet."

A cage to put my feelings in. A place to let the beastly thing roar and rend, teach it new tricks. Tame it. 

"And afterwards…..I was spent."

It slept. The awful blood pumping beating double crossing…..thing……slept. I had cracked the whip at it enough. Had made it jump enough hoops and rings of fire. 

"I haven't gone back to it because….well I don't know if I have anything new to say"

I haven't been 'myself' in years, and I'm not stupid enough to consult my heart, to weigh in. It's been pacing in that cage now for years, getting more and more agitated, and it's waiting for me to make the mistake of setting it free----and it'll devour me if I do. 

Abraham listens not to what Abbie says, but what she won't. He thinks about the state Ichabod had been in and the beautiful songs. He knows there is much unsaid, but he knows too, that the few phrases she's mustered, might be more on the topic than she's ever said to anyone. She's trusted him with something. 

"Abbie?"

She gently tugs her hand out of his grasp and leans against the wall. 

"I….I need to tell you something." 

***************************

When Abraham comes home, his shoulders are slumped and his brain is tired tired tired. He stands dumbly in the darkness. How, how exactly had that gone so wrong?

"And where have you been?" Ichabod asks. The room illuminates and Abraham yelps.

"Don't sneak up on me like that you…you sneaky sneak!" 

Ichabod quirks a brow at him. "Looks to me like you've run afoul of someone. Might I guess whom?" 

It is Abraham's turn to storm and slam doors tonight, grumbling loud enough for Crane to hear, "Smug bastard"


	27. Tell Me Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened during Abbie and Abe's fall out. 
> 
> Abe and Ichabod talk.
> 
> Abbie and Jenny finally discuss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blitzing with these shorter chapters, hope you don't mind!

"Excuse me?"

"I know Ichabod Crane. Have for years, he just got a job at SHU he's living with me---Abbie please let me finish"

"Did he tell you everything? What he did to me?"

"Only that he acknowledges that he hurt you, wouldn't say more than that,"

"Is this a joke to you?" She asked as she edged towards the light of the torch she continued to berate him as he emerged from the stairwell. "Is this a pet project of yours? See how you can get him and I to make nice?" She spat. 

Abraham flinched. "No. Never. I mean, before today, before he'd even told me anything I was trying to set him up---"

Abbie's jaw dropped. "You were planning to set us up?"

"Before he told me you two had a history! Then….then he was so miserable, and Crane---I grew up with the man---and he has issues Abbie, serious issues, and when he asked me to help him make amends, I'd agreed---"

Abbie scoffs and starts patting the wall, desperate for it to give so she could escape this. 

"To help him, repair what he'd damaged."

Abbie whirls on him, "There is no 'repairing' what happened between us. What lies between us is death, years of silence and abandonment. You don't repair that. There's no reattaching severed limbs or filling in yawning chasms, there's not."

He feels dreadful. Like a horrible traitor. "But everything has changed, don't you understand?" he implores as he edges closer. 

"Why?" she asks, slamming the wall, cursing it's stubbornness. "Because I'm your 'inspiration'? now you want to what, be my friend, get pointers for the competition since I know Orion so well? Of course!" she laughs, "Why didn't I see it? This is about you getting the upper hand. Well guess what, I've got no tips to share and I hope the other acts mop the floor with you."

"Abbie,"

"You know what's crazy?"

He doesn't dare tell her that this entire moment seems like some insane nightmare. Somehow in his naive mind, he had thought coming clean now about his association with Ichabod would be better than later. Especially since she had trusted him enough to confide in him. He had felt he owed her that courtesy. How could he have known the idea would be so disastrous? 

"I----I just met you." She sighs. "I just met you, and hah. You take me to a 'new' 'exclusive' spot and I get all caught up and decide to tell you things I've never even told my own damn sister. That's what's crazy. But back to reality with you Mills. Back to the real world."

"Abbie--"

At last she hits the right brick and the door shifts. She begins to squeeze through the crack. "Tell Ichabod I said go to hell alright? And you can join him," 

**********************  
Crane knocks tentatively on the closed door. "Abraham?" he listens moment before knocking again. "Come on now, open up."

"Go. Away."

Sighing Crane throws his weight against the door. "We were just here the other night, let's not repeat history so soon,"

"Not so fun when you're on the other side of the door, is it?"

"You're being childish," he retorts and smirks as the door suddenly swings wide open.

"Me! Childish!" Abraham repeats incredulously. "Oh, that's rich. That's really really rich."

"Not so fun when you're feelings are being undermined, is it?"

Abraham shakes his head vigorously, crosses his arms. "Nope. Not doing this tonight, no bickering. Good night." Crane jams his foot in the door at the last moment and already battle weary from the fall out with Abbie, he lets Crane stroll in as he retreats and flops face up on the bed. 

Ichabod sits on the edge, hands clasped between his knees, takes a deep breath. "Okay. Tell me what happened."

He bolts upright. "How about you do me one better and tell me what in God's name did you DO to Abbie to make her so angry?"

"That is her tale to tell and I've no right to it," Crane mumbles softly. 

"Oh, I disagree," his friend growls. "You went to school with the woman for four years and nearly ten years later, she's still scarred by you. Wrote an album about you she was so hurt---"

"I know,"

"She's still hurt. If you could hear her talk today it's like it happened just yesterday,"

"I know, Abraham."

"well?"

"I will tell you my version as I understood it. Before returning to Sleepy Hollow."

********************************

Jenny glances up from the book she's reading as the door slams and her sister blows in like a small ill tempered wind. "Abs?" she asks. 

"What" She snaps in response before remembering herself, where she is, who she's talking to. 

Who she hasn't really spoken to, about what matters. 

Jenny puts down the novel, goes to her sister at the door and begins to help her out of her coat and goes to the kitchen to put on the kettle. "Come on, sit down. Tell me what's wrong,"

Abbie slumps in the couch with her head between her hands. Oh. Where to begin.

The beginning, her mind suggests. The real beginning might be a start. About how you were just not able to deal with mama passing alone and you made mistakes, you chose your own paths to grieve and screw up and you don't blame her for any of them----but it would explain why you're not the sister she left behind, four years ago. It would explain why you didn't confide in her, for fear of reliving it all again, the fear that she would feel guilty for leaving you alone, responsible somehow. It would shed light on why you'd been numb, and why you shut music and Orion and Calvin and Andy and the one she doesn't even know existed, out of your heart. 

Why Abraham and his kind eyes and stupid twinkling smile and honest voice had made your tongue loose and divulge things that should have been for her ears first. Her sister's ears. 

When Abbie finishes, dry eyed, which is an amazing feat in itself, she realizes Jenny has been crying silently, rivers running down her face. "Oh Jenny, no no, it wasn't your fault,"

"But I didn't help. I wasn't here for you. I was selfish and needed to do things my way and I left you to that Abbie if I had stayed----"

"Then you wouldn't be the strong, smart, learned woman you are right now, being everything that I need, being my rock and shoulder to lean on, cry on. I don't blame you Jenny. I don't. It had just never seemed the right time to tell you." 

"Never, you hear me? Don't you ever, DARE keep things from me again. It's killed me all these years knowing you won't talk to me. I was hurting too. I was hurting for you. We're sisters, and our bond has always been so strong, Mama was so proud of that, and it broke my heart that you wouldn't tell me anything Abbie. It felt like I'd lost my best friend," she throws her arms around Abbie and holds her tight. 

Now Abbie cries. 

Relieved tears. The tears of unburdening. The tears she'd been too much of a coward to let Jenny see, to share her past and her secret woes. 

The Mills sisters cry until they laugh until they cry again and then curled up together on the couch, like when they were children, fall asleep.

"That reminds me," Jenny yawns. "Luke called tonight, said he couldn't get your cell? and You've got a meeting with the wedding singer---Joe's band is touring so he got a replacement---and you need to go and sort out the set list and stuff," she finishes, her eyelids drooping.

But Abbie was already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope that call from Luke wasn't important.


	28. No Innocents Only Casualties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Ichabod's thoughts as he tells it to Abraham post abandoning Abbie.
> 
> Examination of Abe's and Ichabod's friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set up for the next chapter, basically, lol. 
> 
> Again not excusing ANYTHING about Ichabod whatsoever. Just more, explanations.

April 2005

I've made a mistake. He thinks, with Katrina already thumbing through a magazine she bought in the terminal, fastened in securely next to him. I've made a horrible, horrible mistake. The flight attendant is busy giving survival instructions but all Ichabod can think is if he doesn't find a way to get off the plane is that HE won't survive the consequences of what he's done. He can still see her eyes looming up at him, warm, over bright with unshed tears. Feel her fingers locking around his waist. He can still smell her hair, remember the texture of her hair as he'd pressed his lips to her crown in shallow comforting kisses. Even now, he remembers the feeling of her soft lips, trembling slightly beneath his and leaving her nothing but empty words walks away. It is clear to him in that moment, that he needs to unbuckle his seat belt, throw himself from the plane and go running back to her. 

He needs to go back and take her in his arms and kiss her again and again and beg forgiveness for even thinking of abandoning her, now of all times. She's pregnant for God's sake---

\-----You don't know that, another part of his brain interjects. She never actually said she was.

But in her eyes-----

\------She didn't say she was pregnant, the inner voice snaps. Case closed, that's final. 

He comforts himself with that conceited thought until they're up in the air. Then he feigns illness. He makes an absolute racket screaming in agony and clutching at his abdomen.

Well, he supposes he faked it----but it could have just as well have been a strange sympathetic pain to what Abbie was at that moment experiencing, alone, left behind. 

He thinks, he hopes that they'll make an emergency landing. He doesn't consider the uproar, the mess, the inconvenience to the other passengers. Any and everyone else is of little importance to him at the moment 

But then he wakes up. He'd dozed off and had been asleep for hours, but the pain was so real. The gut wrenching agony, as if having a valuable thing torn away from him again and again and vanishing into nothingness. 

And then he IS sick. Violently, all over himself and Katrina both. 

The wedding was a hurried affair. It was lucky Abraham was even ready to catch a flight. Nerves made Ichabod pace, itch and sweat and clamber out of his bedroom window only to be caught by his best man wandering around the perimeter. 

As it happened, it was Ichabod who was late to the altar. Katrina, having given herself ample time had taken her leisurely walk down the aisle to a vacant spot where her groom ought to be.  
******************  
July 2015

"I think if you hadn't found me, I would have honestly run. That was the moment Abraham, that was my last chance to bolt before all of those irreversible years. If I'd only timed it better----"

He would have married Abbie, he's sure of it now in a way he wasn't even then among all of his fearful indecision. He would have boarded the first flight, tux and all, nothing else to his name and gone straight to the house, fallen on his knees and confessed to the monster that he was---is still in some ways----and would have promised to be by her side, always. 

Abraham cuts his eye at Crane, wrestling internally with irritation and rage. No one knew Ichabod's vast range of internal turmoil better than he, had he not been privy to most of it? Rage he knew. The violent terrible thing but this fear? this unrelenting cowardice the torment he inflicted on both of the women he had claimed to love. He feels he understands to a degree, he must, it's his best friend. But he doesn't recognize Ichabod at this moment. 

Doesn't recognize the man who admitted to a miserable defeat. 

Who so willingly took comfort and found peace in one woman's arms after having the gall to declare he was still in love with another. 

Hearts don't divide, Abraham wants to retort. Men do. Minds do. Terrors, fear and weakness do. Love doesn't tear you apart. 

It's a strong bonding thing, a betraying thing maybe, but the deepest purest truest love could NEVER do what Ichabod had done to not only Abbie but Katrina too? 

"When Katrina couldn't get pregnant, I used to get…..angry."

"At who?" Abraham asks through clenched teeth. 

"Both of us," Ichabod answers simply. "Myself for walking away, never asking one damn question. And Her….for being so sure she loved me and that I could ever love her the way she needed to be in return," 

"Were you ever better?" Abraham presses, frustrated now. "Were you ever healed?"

************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: Teen Years

Abraham fills out his university application and doesn't tell Ichabod that he didn't apply to the same universities as him. 

He's known Crane most of his life. They lived next door to each other up until middle school when Abraham's family moved to the other side of town. But still their friendship had endured, had flourished and grown, but during that time Crane also began his descent, his wild angry change. 

And Abraham was there for him, steadfast and loyal as a dog, even when Crane tried to pull away, he wouldn't allow it, held on fiercely, desperate to keep Crane afloat, swimming against all tides and currents that might try to drag Ichabod under. After all, Crane was the brother Abraham didn't have anymore.

He filled the gap of the twin Abraham had survived. 

So Abraham pulled Crane out of the mire, time after time, lifted him up, encouraged him, protected the hell out of the man because he wasn't going to let what had happened to his twin---a singular moment of carelessness---wrench Ichabod away from him. He went to all of Ichabod's debates, presentations and often waited for him after his therapy sessions. When Crane had taken up with Katrina, after quickly dispelling the initial jealousy, he had given him ideas of what to do for dates. Listened to him, always. When Abraham felt the still lingering strange pangs of guilt for living Crane talked him down from the ledge of sadness and bereavement. When Crane went red in the face, fending off the anger, Abraham would take him down to the gym, and they'd pummel their frustrations into punching bags. Or when they had managed to particularly vex each other, threw one another across the wrestling ring. He'd blackened Crane's eye once for his obstinate pig headedness and within that same bout Crane had returned him the favour. Later, huffing sweaty and both shielding their eyes from bright lights, when they'd gone back to Abraham's house and had declared to both be exceedingly clumsy to Mrs. Van Brunt, with ice on their eyes, they had taken one look at each other and burst out laughing. "That's a mean left you've got there Ichabod,"

Crane had grinned. "And that's a devil of a right, Abraham."

They looked out for one another, even though Crane required more tending than his best friend would allow even himself. 

There was nothing, troubled, about Abraham's home life. But there was still memory, and the prickling unfairness of being tasked to walk the world alone when he had been brought into the world with a companion. He was supposed to grow up with a mirror image and maybe they'd like the same things, maybe not---and young as they were when it happened, he still has the image of the casket in his mind, his own sweet little innocent face staring back up at him---and he had contemplated jumping in the casket with him. Surely a pair that entered the world together should leave it together too? But he hadn't, because he liked life, even a life without his sibling. It didn't always bother him, but every now and again, his birthday mainly, he'd look in the mirror and sing Happy Birthday to him, his lost other half. 

But Abraham didn't brood. He sojourned, and endeavoured, as much as he could to live his life fully, happily, in his twin's memory. And yet, having Crane, close bosom buddies that they were, sometimes, just sometimes, made it easier, slightly. He cared for Ichabod, the way he never got a chance for Eddie---Abe and Eddie they were, blond hair and cherub faces with matching pale green eyes----ensuring his safety and wellbeing. 

In some ways his obsession with looking out for Crane, began to stand in the way of Abraham figuring out who he was. He didn't have much of a sense of self until a teacher put a guitar in his hand during their second year of high school. The piano close behind.

Suddenly Abraham had something unique unto himself. Separate from all things Crane. It was as if stepping out of a cocoon and being transformed. He'd written a song back then. Amateur, but new and his, and he's kept it to this day, as a sort of reminder to himself why he ought to keep living, taking chances, showing people you care. 

Truthfully, picking a different university had been Abraham's great escape from his best friend to have a chance to breathe. Figure out who the hell he was when he wasn't looking out for, protecting, and living for Ichabod Crane. 

Through music, Abraham found himself. 

****************************  
July 2015

"Don't ask me those questions Abraham I'm a poor judge of my own state."

"You mean to tell me, you never tried to contact her? Ichabod you suspected she was pregnant and you did nothing?"

Crane flinches away from accusatory tone but nods. "I tried to, was often haunted by my choice, but feeling badly and almost doing something is not the same as doing it, I know that now."

"You wanted to make amends with her, but how. How could you come back here, HERE of all places and not tell me of the history the place holds for you both? I feel betrayed Ichabod, I honestly do. I thought I knew everything---"

"Yes well I thought you were going to stand by me and we'd have both come here for our bachelors but instead you went to pursue your music career and maybe had you stayed---"

"Don't you dare" Abraham grinds out, furious tears welling in his eyes. "Don't you dare tell me I didn't do everything I could for you Ichabod, don't you dare sit there, and try to tell me, that had I put my goals, my self aside---for how long Ichabod? how long am I supposed to pander to you? that this would have, prevented the spectacular MESS you've made of both your lives."

"Pander?" Crane retorts, a quiet simmering tone to his voice. "Pander?" he repeats. Abraham should move now, probably. He's known Ichabod all this time, he should know what comes next but Crane has never been one for contact sports, so when he launches himself on his best friend, the two of them rolling and kicking until they tumble off the bed, scratching and yelling Abraham is mostly caught by surprise. "I never asked to be a place holder for you!" Crane rants. "I wasn't a lost dog you take home from the pound, but I served the purpose to you, didn't I? Made believe to be the brother you lost? I never asked for your help"

"But you needed it! Were I not there for you!"

"Well you weren't and look at what I did!"

"I can't be responsible for you forever---son of a----" he cuts off as his back hits the floor again and Crane is looming over him, grasping him by his collar. 

"Did I ever damning well ask to be your responsibility? All I'm saying is you're not the only one who carried a burden in this friendship. And perhaps had you trusted me, the way you would have Eddie dearest you might have learned I'd be happy for you! I'd have supported you! I know I'm not a walk in the park, damn it I KNOW THAT. But to conspire behind my back---" Abraham catches him a blow in the jaw and he rolls off, holding his face. He sits up, panting, cracking his neck, looking at Ichabod on the other side, eyes wild and feral until he blinks twice and the beast goes back to sleep. He speaks first. "I'm sorry. That was an unfair thing for me to say, to even suggest."

Groaning Abraham goes on all fours, and then tries to stand when Ichabod's hand stretches out to him. Grudgingly he takes it, rising slowly to his feet when Ichabod draws him in tight. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I know you did what you have to and I was wrong. Have been wrong for years. I thrived and survived because of your friendship Abraham. I don't take it for granted. If I ever gave you reason to think so, I am deeply, deeply sorry." 

Sighing, he reaches up to return the embrace. "I chose to babysit you, didn't I?" he chuckles. "I chose to try and make you fill in the blank. But you have been the best friend to me when your heads on straight. I can't fault you that. I guess, I just wonder, I took my flight to discover myself. But, I didn't really help matters, did I? Your father made you---"

"Worthless," Ichabod supplies, matter of fact. "Inferior, angry,"

Abraham draws back and sits down on the bed, Crane joining him. "But before that they tried to make you perfect with a capital P. And all that time you were acting substitute for me,"

And standing in for grief and absence for Abbie. 

Standing in for love, acceptance and safety for Katrina. 

"You've never really had a chance to just be you, have you? Who are you Ichabod?"

The silence stretches and Crane takes the time to look back and assess, he thinks of his visits from Katrina's ghost "You are dead," she'd said, and she'd been right. Ichabod Crane, a man with an intact heart and state of mind and living his life fully, wasn't there, he was living in his own head, down trodden and miserable and beyond redemption, he hadn't been fully and totally present neither in body or spirit, certainly not his heart, had he the capacity to truly listen to his heart and follow through he'd have been better off---- and the letter he recently started--a small step in the right direction he hopes--- He cannot name who he was in the past. 

But today, and moving forward, Ichabod will try to be a man who defines himself on his own terms. One who learns, who admits his wrongs and prepares to set himself right, to run toward the man he aspires to be, instead of away from the one he is. 

"I'm on a journey to figure that out," He says at last. 

Abraham claps a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as he leans in and whispers in Ichabod's ear. "And if you ever pull that stunt again," he promises, "I will give you a matching set of black eyes and the broken nose to match,"

***********  
Abbie wakes to the smell of bacon and eggs, she sits up, groggy and stiff from sleeping on the couch, her hair in a impressive state of disarray.

"Jenny?" she croaks.

Jenny pops her head out the kitchen. "Morning," she calls softly. 

"What time, is it?" Abbie continues to yawn and stretch.

"Seven?"

"A.M?"

"Sun's too bright," she explains, ducking back in the kitchen.

Finally rising from the couch Abbie tosses her head and quickly tries to remember what she has to do today. "Did you mention a meeting?"

"Remember when I hired Joe Corbin's band? well, they're on tour, he got a replacement before he left and he called yesterday to remind me, to remind you, to meet up with guy. Talk musical vision or whatever,"

"Cool, cool, I'm gonna take a shower,"

"Please do,"

"Shut up!" she teases and heads for the bathroom.

Afterwards, showered and dressed in t-shirt, jeans, boots and skip the jacket today because it is way too damn hot, Abbie is ready to go. Except for her hair, it's curled up from the shower and why waste her time straightening it on a day as hot as today? She settles in at the table were Jenny has plated breakfast and she's about five bites in when she notices Jenny hasn't been eating. "Jenny?"

"I can't believe he got you pregnant and left,"

Abbie rolls her eyes. "I didn't really get a chance to tell him," she replies, and she's shocked at herself because that almost sounds like she's excusing him. Forgiving him. And the road to forgiving Ichabod Crane is surely the path of madness. 

"But he suspected, I mean, you told him you were seeing a doctor, what did he think?"

"Jenny, please." 

Taking a moment to compose herself Jenny takes a few furious bites but it's clear the cogs in her head are still turning. "And he's back? here? in Sleepy Hollow? I'm gonna kick his ass if I ever lay eyes on him."

Abbie can't help it, she smiles. 

"And, wait, whoa, where do you get off even THINKING about confiding in random singer dude before telling me anything? And tell me more about the restaurant! Hawley will be glad to know you're a believer now,"

Shaking her head Abbie swallows, takes a swig of orange juice and laughs. "Didn't we talk about this last night? I could have sworn we did?"

Jenny shrugs. "Maybe? but then we cried a lot and sleep and I've forgotten a lot of the details," 

"Listen," Abbie chuckles. "I gotta head into work, going over the building layout etc for Orion," she scoffs "And then make some time to meet up with the wedding singer." she withdraws her phone from her pocket and frowns. Completely dead, zero charge. Sighing heavily she rises from the table to plug it up. "What have you got today?"

"I need to send in the revised syllabus and reading list to the Dean. Some other administrative things down at SHU and the museum alike." 

"Sounds fun," Abbie winks. 

"Absolutely scintillating. Oh and Abbie," she calls before her sister walks out the door. "I'm serious, if I cross Ichabod Crane I'm gonna punch his face in,"

She considers protesting, talking her sister out of it, she's Lieutenant and all……..

but she rather likes the idea, truth be told.


	29. Surprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All present day. 
> 
> Abbie tours the station for the security gig with Orion, meets with the wedding musician.
> 
> Ichabod had a meeting at SHU.
> 
> Jenny had a meeting at SHU.
> 
> Oh. This could be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now the fun begins.

Both men shuffle around each other some what uneasily in the kitchen, namely because they are both still rather sore from the thrashing of the night before. Abraham is only grateful that Crane didn't land him any bad punches, he's going to be on live television tonight after all. He wants to look his best. "Tea?" he asks his friend. 

Dragging himself to the table Crane throws himself down in a chair, trying not to wince or groan but catches Abraham smirking. "Please," he accepts the cup, inhales deeply the peppermint scent of it. "So. How are you going to fix it?" 

"Fix what?" Abraham queries as he pops two bagels in the toaster. 

"Your battered new friendship with Miss Mills,"

Abraham pauses in his movement. "I hadn't thought of it. She already thinks I'm using her to get ahead in the show"

Crane furrows his brow. "How, exactly?"

"She knows Orion. He produced that lovely tribute to you that she wrote?" Crane's ears turn pink. "Anyway, she concluded yesterday that I'm trying to get in her good books so as to maybe sway the competition, or get insider tips,"

"I don't remember Abbie being the sort to jump to conclusions." 

Abraham raises a brow at his friend. "We're not going to put too much stock into how well you can read Abbie, okay? It doesn't seem to benefit any of the parties involved," 

"Touche," Crane finishes his tea and grabs their bagels from the toaster. "Cream cheese or butter?"

"Cream cheese," Abraham leans on the counter, mug in hand, thinking about what he's got to rehearse, his other errands for the day oh, he'd better not forget that song he's been working on, he'll need it for his meeting, and then, tonight he makes his…..national debut. Dear Lord what has he gotten himself into?

"Oh no," Crane muses as he hands Abraham his bagel. "I hope you're not considering getting stage fright?" he scolds. "I'm going to be in the audience and I'm going to be very embarrassed for us both if you don't do well." He begins wrapping his own bagel in plastic wrap. "I've got to pop by SHU today, discuss the curriculum etc," 

"You're coming?" his friend asks. 

Crane gives Abraham a withering glance and then makes a tsking sound. "Of course I'm coming Abraham. That's what friends are for,"

*********************************  
"Good morning Abbie," He's waiting for her outside of that station, door held wide open. Today he looks suspiciously like the Orion she knows, no more suit and tie, polished shoes and nice hair. No this is vintage Ry, with his mineral wash t-shirt, jeans and sensible shoes. Tattoos on full display, the woman on his arm glaring at her and Abbie wonders if he didn't deliberately dress this way. An attempt to trigger fond memories. And they are fond, up until recently she didn't have any negative associations with Orion, encounters that conflicted her a bit yes, his cryptic way of speaking could wear on her nerves but she doesn't remember ever feeling personally attacked by him, and it leaves a sour taste in her mouth. It makes her stomach churn to think of a great friendship ruined in one night. 

He said he loves you. Of course seeing you with Luke was going to set him off.

Jealousy isn't an excuse, she reasons. After all that Abbie has been through, she's not about to start giving out free passes for bad behaviour. "Let's get this over with Angel,"

"Strictly business today is it? Alright. Come on, we'll do a walk around," He strikes off down the hall and Abbie follows him, ignoring him as he rattles on about his plans for the show and making her own mental notes about entrances and security points, already deciding she's going to need help covering the grounds. He walks her down the hallways where camera men and producers milling around down branching halls she can hear the trilling and tuning of acts going through their exercises to rehearse. In the theatre space a soloist is checking her spot and lighting, the backing band playing through a rip roaring rock ballad and the hairs on Abbie's arms stand on end. She listens, struck by the electricity in the air and the energy of the performer. Orion shifts closer behind her, far enough not to encroach on her space, but still closer than wise. "She's good isn't she?"

"Very," Abbie admits. "Strong stage presence," 

Orion scoffs. "Too much antics for me, personally. Killer voice though." he looks askance at her. "You'd have looked good up there,"

"Look I'm here because you blackmailed my boss, this is not the time to pitch me an offer,"

"You're conceited aren't you?" he sniffs. "I need security, I want the best, I know you and I know you don't do anything by half measures, you'd do the job right, take pride in your work. That's why I asked for you, because you're more than competent and I don't want any screw ups or fiascos on my show," 

Abbie makes an irritated sound in the back of her throat. She's not sure if he's telling the truth, or just omitting ulterior motive. But whatever it is, it's Orion's special brand of double speak. Orion who isn't as casual cool as she's always thought he was. No, the Orion she met the other night was ungoverned, sloppy, and quite frankly unapologetic. Except for hurting her feelings, that might have been sincere. But he hadn't been sorry about taunting Luke nor lashing out at him. Abbie's pretty certain given the chance he'd do it again. They back out of the room, leaving music, sound check, spot checking behind and Abbie follows him down a corridor to the security room. 

"This, will be your base," he announces. Abbie walks in, takes in all of the surveillance camera's the many angles, she can see every facet both within and outside of the walls. Macey is tearing away on the piano in one, a group is playing through pop rock in another, an a cappella group, two more solo acts, Abraham on his guitar, crooning and sketching in lyrics or chord symbols presumably as he goes along. "Tonight is originals night, they do their own stuff, introduce themselves to the crowd. Two songs. eliminations tomorrow night, three go home, next week they do one cover, one genre piece, two go, then final two and we crown our winner,"

"That's fast,"

"I prefer to call it efficient. That's supposed to be the vibe behind it, committed and urgent. That's how music should be, always present, always saying something. Make you feel something," 

"I can't argue with your vision," 

The door goes click. Abbie turns and sees Orion leaning casually on the door. 

"You realize I still have my gun, right? I am authorized to shoot. To kill," she adds pointedly. 

"Would be interesting if another spot opened up suddenly wouldn't it? a wildcard,"

"You wanna dance we can dance, Angel"

"Take some time and familiarize yourself with the controls in here and the rest of the building," he says, turning his back on her and swinging the door open. "But I'm not done with you Abbie,"

Maybe she should be concerned about someone like Orion making threats. But Abbie is sick and tired of being fearful and scared. She spoke her truth to her sister last night and had almost completely unearthed her past for Abraham---who's still practicing, and now in hindsight, maybe she was unfair to him, she notes----and it didn't utterly destroy her the way she thought it would. 

She had thought having to retell it again would wash her away in pain anew, instead Abbie finds she feels little braver, a little more whole than before. It's small, but it's a start.

And she will be damned if she lets Orion's idle chatter set her back. She's in forward motion now. She intends to keep it that way. 

When she's examined the security room to her satisfaction and has treated herself to another walk around the building, she decides to chance popping in on Abraham. She doesn't feel that she owes him an apology, but she does feel less than happy about how they left off. It's not like he lied to her. He'd come clean with no provocation, truly, on the first day that they'd even had a chance to chat. He picked up her spirits yesterday when she was in a foul mood and shared something special with her that he really didn't have to. 

Willingly. 

Abbie goes through all of the rooms however and finds they've all been abandoned until evening when they'll be back two hours before in makeup and what have you, doing last minute touch ups and run throughs. Sighing Abbie heads home for the day, eager to get out of her work clothes and into something that feels more like summer. She has other errands to run today anyway. 

**********************************  
"Excellent Miss Mills, I'm looking forward to their exhibit presentations this year, and the inclusion of museum study," 

Jenny nods proudly, and with a firm handshake she rises to her feet and strides out of the office, banging the door open into the unsuspecting man walking by in the hall. "Damn," she mutters as she helps the man to his feet. He rises easily, towering over her, rubs at his assaulted nose before tossing his head back. 

"Not at all Miss?"

"Jenny, I tend to make exuberant exits," she explains.

A bemused smile followed by a quick bob of the head "A bit of an understatement, if I may,"

Intrigued, Jenny begins to walk along beside him down the hall. "You new here?"

"Yes, actually, new history professor. I assume you've just left your own meeting with your department head?"

"Art history," she announces, head held high, tossing her hair over her shoulder, she's about to launch into her background in world travel and study of art and artifacts across the globe when a voice cuts them off.

"Professor Crane, I wanted to discuss some of the particulars about your tutorial lay outs when you've a moment,"

"Certainly," the man agrees and then turns back to a suddenly very rigid and stoic Jenny. She watches as the department head turns the corner, the hallway empty on both ends. 

"Miss Jenny?"

"Did he say Crane?"

"Ichabod Crane," he extends his hand. " A pleasure,"

"Oh," Jenny says, a wicked smile creeping across her face. "The pleasure is all mine," 

For all his experience with sudden violent outbursts, Ichabod Crane is, in a word, astounded by the lightening quick speed of the woman's hands to cheek, jaw, gut and the quick sweep of her leg under his feet and the crash to the floor. It occurs to him that this is not the first time a woman has put him down this week. Nor is this is first altercation this week either. Parts of him still smart from tumbling with Abraham. When he blinks dazedly up at the woman smiling down at him he barely manages to ask "Why?"

Jenny says two words. "Jenny. Mills," she hisses.

Of course. He smiles weakly. "Ah. Abbie's sister,"

***************************  
At the house Abbie pulls on a red tulip pant, a white crop top and her bejewelled sandals, leaves her curly hair down because she's off the clock and Abbie has too many nice things that never get to see the light of day. She does her makeup, soft pink lipstick, a little blush. She drops her now charged phone in her bag and heads for the address Jenny left posted on the fridge. 

It's a quaint music studio space that looks as if it is either in the process of renovations or a relocation. There's no signage anywhere, scant furniture and no one there, but Abbie can hear singing in the back so she follows the voice, and the closer she gets she thinks she might crack up. It just isn't possible. It can't be. 

"Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered, for your touch, a long, lonely time," the voice continues, a little more soul than she remembers, but it's beautiful warm, heartfelt sound and she presses on the door. 

"Oh!" Abraham starts, turning away from where he's been faced out the window and strumming away. "The future Mrs. Morales! so glad to see----Abbie?!"

Abbie blinks a couple of times, letting the reality of this moment truly sink in. Abraham's gaze goes from her head to her toes and back up again. She's beautiful, he thinks, gorgeous, she can't be here for the wedding appointment can she? "You're, you're" he stutters. "You're getting married?"

Abbie laughs nervously. "Misplaced my ring recently. Surprise?"


	30. Sing Me A Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Abe sing a long. 
> 
> examination of their new friendship, her feelings towards Luke, Abe mentions his past experiences with grief.

"You're getting married," Abraham says again, still having difficulty processing. Abbie doesn't know why, but she feels suddenly rather self conscious about the fact, a little sorry even that she hadn't mentioned it. 

She had looked for the ring since the incident, she's patrolled that same street two dozen times, had asked all the local shop owners and construction workers on that entire block if anyone had seen or heard tale of anyone finding her ring. She'd already resigned herself to try and order a replacement----yet she hasn't considered up until now, that anyone she's been interacting with might assume she was single. She almost apologizes for it, but stops herself. She has not in anyway portrayed herself falsely to Abraham, not intentionally. She's been more honest with him in a day than people she's known for years. 

On Abraham's part, he tries furiously to remember if she had been wearing a ring when he'd met her outside of the starbucks with her sister, he must have overlooked it, because he'd have never deigned to think setting up Crane with an engaged woman was a good idea. "Congratulations," he rasps at last, feeling suddenly very parched. He gestures to a chair on the far wall. "Have a seat, please,"

Abbie does, drawing the chair a bit closer to the centre of the room. "So what's the deal here? you shutting up shop or opening up?"

"Opening up. I've been doing the door to door teaching for a while, or renting a space from musical schools….it seemed time to open my own place."

"What if you win the Seven Sleepy Stars show? she asks, thinking that it would be a joy for a student to learn music in here, spacious room, nice big window, high ceiling. The resonance she would get out of a space like this. It would be a shame if it was shut down.

"Then you get to take over it," he replies, managing to regain some of his humour. Abbie side eyes him with a smirk. 

"I hope you weren't practicing that for my wedding."

"Why not?"

"Because all I ever think of is Ghost, and it doesn't…..it doesn't suit us." 

Abraham gapes at her with his jaw dropped. "You mean to tell me," he straightens posture and begins skimming through chords quickly, adjusting his fingers, "when he gets right here, and he hits that falsetto on 'I need your love," Abbie is impressed, his voice is smooth and hits the note flawlessly,his eyes shut as if imagining the depth of this desire, this deep want, "I need, your love, God speed your love, to me" 

It gives her chills. Fine. She'll give him that. 

"You mean that, that doesn't feel like the most gut wrenching, passionate, pleading song of love?"

"A fantastic cliche." she counters. " It's too….." powerful for what she has with Luke. Too emblazoned for a barely there flame. Shock zips through her body. She's never thought that before. Never has she ever compared their relationship to something less than. Lacking. 

Luke has honestly given her nothing but steadfast love, reassurance and comfort. of course, once in a while, her chest flutters, she gets a little excite----. 

\-----What you take for butterflies is your heart thrashing to be free, her mind hisses and Abbie blocks it out. Not now. Now is not the time---

"Abbie?"

"You sound great on it, but it's not right for us," 

"Hmph. Just as well, that's going to be one of my covers if I survive till week two. But thank you for the feedback." he sets his guitar down and turns to face her. "So tell me about what you picture as the prelude to your walk down the aisle? during reception?"

Abbie is displeased to find she is at a loss for words. She'd had ideas sure, their wedding is being held at the Sleepy Hollow Cathedral. Very sensible, by the books. She had a very sensible by the books list of songs she wanted to hear, a sound to go for. But knowing her wedding musician is Abraham has muddled her mind. She's heard his voice and knows what he's capable of and it seems a shame to request repertoire that she knows will do him a disservice to his instrument and artistry. She flits through her brain, trying to think of what music she wants to hear him sing that would match his ability and wow the crowd at her wedding. "I----"

I can do Ed," he offers immediately launching into the chorus "Darling I, will, be loving you, till, your seventy," he stops, repositions and then tries another. "Or how about 'All, my, life, I prayed for someone like you, and I thank God, that I, that I finally found you,---No? then 'Wise me say, only fools, rush in?"

Abbie cracks a smile.

"No wait, I've got it, this one, 'Every night, in my dreams, I see you, I feel you---"

Abbie shakes her head, waving for him to cease, "Stop"

"Near, far, wherever you are!"

"Stop it!" she snickers. 

"Got me looking so crazy right now, your love got me hoping you'll save me right now,"

"No,"

He dramatically clears his throat and begins reciting a dialogue that Abbie has a tricky time remembering before he begins crooning, "Can, you feel, the love, tonight,"

"Is there a song you don't know?" 

Abraham pauses, strumming absentmindedly. "thousands. But you build a set list after you do enough gigs. Oh wait, this one will be perfect. WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN," he belts and Abbie cannot stop laughing. 

"No? too much soul, not enough?" 

Abbie can't bring herself to say that she needs something not so declamatory, a song with a bit more intimacy, not hearts raging but craving peace, home, safety. All of the timeless, passionate, well known tunes have too much charge for what she has with Luke, too much fire.

"Something, more, contained." she says simply and Abraham eyes her strangely, thinks a moment before he starts a new progression. 

Oh. Abbie thinks as the tune emerges, she knows this accompaniment. Knows these words. It hurts how much perfect sense it makes, scares her how Abraham has flayed her open with this song choice, as if he already knows everything there is to be discovered and said of her inside. Things Luke himself might not admit. Would never admit.

She's almost angry at how accurately it narrates her story. It's the wrong song, really, it's not a song you pick for people happy and in love, but contemplative, reflective of how they wound up there. What keeps them there.

"All along, it was a fever," he sings softly.

"A cold sweat hot headed believer," she murmurs. 

Abraham's eyes flick to her but he keeps singing through verse into chorus. Abbie hums along. She is improvising quietly, pretending Abraham can't hear. He listens carefully to her intuitive harmonies, the way she pauses mid line, throwing in her own lyrical phrasing. 

It's clear to him that she wants to sing. So why don't you? he wonders as he strums louder, raising his voice. "Oooh, the reason I hold on," he drops out, continues playing as her humming persists, taking over the melody. When she goes through the bridge he loops back and her eyes, which had fallen half shut while being caught up in the song snap open, looks at him questioningly. 

"Sing it," he implores her. "go on"

Abbie takes a deep breath, rises from the seat and heads for the door. He stops playing and springs after her. "Wait," 

"What are you doing?" 

"I thought you were leaving."

Abbie crosses her arms and chuckles. "I was just closing the door, in case someone comes in through the front, don't want my voice to carry so much." she waves him back to his seat. "Same place," she instructs, picking a place to stand near the window, feet shoulder width apart and nods. 

This time, Abbie gives weight to the words with her voice, pours out the warm tones around each lyric, sweet and at home she consciously lets herself sing and be heard. Her phone rings, but neither of them can hear it. Can be bothered to try to hear it. Her voice grows louder, and when she finishes she makes a circling motion for him to loop it again and she begins to walk towards him as she starts the verse over, beckoning to him.

Join me. 

So he does. 

They sing together. "Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving"

"Needed saving," he echoes.

"Cause when you never see the light it's hard to know which one of us is caved, in" 

The chorus is loud and heart felt, toeing the fine balance between beautifully layered and utter chaos.

It's freeing. 

It's such a relief to perform like this, in a collaborative effort, not giving a damn about spoiled notes or finished product, or even if she's saying what she needs to say because the song has been kind enough to be complete, already crafted. Someone else has gone through the fine tuning process and given her a vehicle to drive now as she recklessly as she dares. It's nothing like karaoke. Nothing like when she was singing and workshopping her own work so long ago with take after take and trying to find perfection. But it's enough for now. It opens up and she's allowed to feel without digging too deep into herself, she's capable of interpretation and every time she races away, surging forward into strange places as she picks chromatic notes and experiments with her tone Abraham races to meet her, taking the same creative leaps of faith, catches her with his sure place of the beat and drive in his capable fingers caressing and flitting across the frets of his guitar. Anchors with his voice when he returns to the main line, and then they change places, and she holds the fort while he takes his own chances, it doesn't matter anymore how much the song sounds like the original here. They're too busy exploring what they can do. What they can manage together.

Their potential. 

It exhausts them. The song and the thrum, crackle spark between them has wrung them dry, so when they come down from their musical flight, they echo the other, softly, weary, a peculiar undercurrent of triumph.

"I want you to stay,"

Voices and music alike stop. The last chord rings for a sliver of time before it too dies and the silence rolls in like a tide. There's a magic to music making, a kinship and bond that forms, but even now, when the song has been sung they remain suspended in time staring at one another. At last Abraham sets his guitar back down and Abbie takes a breath, striding towards the far side of the room and leaning on the wall. 

"That was, fun." She says at last. "I'd like that one, feels right. You're going to do well tonight" she rambles. Abbie never rambles. 

Abraham clasps his hands and chews his lip. "I spoke to Crane last night. Told me what happened between you two. Look I'm---"

"No. Don't. No need, alright?"

He chooses his next words carefully. "He told me, he never, never forgot. He told me even on the plane, on his wedding day when I found him about to bolt…..he was thinking of you,"

Abbie stares off into the distance, listening. 

"Said he thought you were pregnant. That you never said it, but he suspected."

"How do you tell a man you're having his child seconds after he tells you he's getting married and not seem as though you're trying to trap him?" she shakes her head, runs a hand through her curly hair. "I didn't know how. It happened so fast, it shocked me, it was like having ice water poured over my head, I just. I never saw it coming. Even that first time, it hadn't seemed quite real." she sighs. "I guess that's why I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want anything to change, I was scared that I had let something change, and then you get the news---" she coughs, wipes her eyes. 

"You, miscarried?"

"Yes"

"And you never got over it," he concludes.

"Ten years later the man corners me in an ever loving taxi and I lose my wedding ring running away from him in the street. What do you think?" 

"I think he still loves you,"

"Memory plays cruel tricks on the mind," she hedges. 

"It's not the same," he offers. "It could never be the same, but I can understand living with the reminder of loss," 

Abbie crosses back slowly and reclaims her seat. She doesn't understand it. She's just met this man but it's easy to talk to him, easy to listen to him. Maybe it's because there's no possibility of this being something more, she's engaged already, done deal. There's no worry about frightening this one off, no concerns that he might turn his back on her because it won't matter. He's not the man she's building a life with, Luke is. Maybe it's because making music with him isn't a power dynamic the way it was with Orion validating and critiquing. They just are. Maybe he's a friend. "Try me," she says, not a challenge, but a gentle invitation.

"I had a twin," he starts. "Edward. He passed when we were young, young little things, wading in the water at the beach. I took my eye off of him for a second---I guess we all did---by the time my father got to him---" she rests a hand on his and he stops, wraps her fingers around his own and squeezes gently.

"And you see him every time you look in the mirror, now. Don't you,"

His breath catches on an unexpected sob. Abraham doesn't carry this around like a tragic thing waiting to be unearthed, it doesn't hover just under his skin waiting for the right knife to cut too deep, so he's completely caught off guard by the way his body reacts talking about his brother now. He stopped getting this emotional years ago. Only morose on his birthday and somber other times, but a sob? the feeling is positively alien. But he hasn't met anyone who could make him feel this transparent either, even Ichabod, who could see through him at the best of times, had never made such an accurate summary of Abraham's experience with grief. 

"Sorry,"

"No no, I was the one who decided to share experiences and then start blubbering," he laughs before she reaches over and thumbs away a tear on his cheek. 

"I cried at the drop of a hat for days after he left. Didn't let anyone wipe away my tears. Ashamed maybe? who knows." she explains, leaning back in the chair. Abraham is astounded by her strength to comfort him when he had been trying to offer her support. "I---" she starts, choking off and Abraham returns the favour and she smiles at him. "Hah. Thanks. It just hurt so much. I was so terrified of speaking it again, maybe people would judge me, wouldn't understand it,"

"Or abandon you after you'd trusted them. Keep reliving it." 

"Exactly," 

They let silence hang between them, both blinking away the remaining trifling tears before Abbie rockets to her feet. "I've gotta go get changed for duty tonight,"

"Duty?"

"Didn't Orion tell you? I'm head of security,"

"Well if that's not going to be close quarters I don't know what is,"

"Tell me about it,"

Abraham glances up at her. "Ichabod's coming tonight, just a heads up."

Abbie grabs her purse and heads for the door. "Just. Keep him out of my way tonight, alright? I don't want any---" what was the word Orion had used? "Fiascos" 

"Agreed…..Your hair is nice curly, by the way," 

"Thank you," and with that Abbie slips out the door. 

Wait a minute. Abraham pauses as he starts packing up his belongings. Did she say she lost her ring? 

*****************  
"And welcome tonight is the national premier of the blitz talent show Seven Sleepy Stars, I'm your host, Axel Waters! Let's get started!"

The show goes off without a hitch. Abbie watches from the her security hutch all of the sites of the building and frankly she feels bored and sorry for dragging other officers into this to watch doors that are seeing little to no activity whatsoever. 

Macey kills her set and Abbie is actually blown away. 

And then it's Abraham's turn, the host makes a point of telling the audience that it is teacher and student both in the same competition, to drum up drama, most likely, but true to form Abraham does a confident, flawless job, and all of those who know him will surely be voting for him tonight. The other acts are varied and impressive and Abbie is relieved that no one has embarrassed themselves tonight. 

Mildly proud too, to see that after all this time, Orion STILL has a killer ear for talent. The time flies by and before she knows it Axel waters is making his over enthused farewells. "Don't forget to vote folks! Lines close at midnight! Tune in tomorrow night for the same time when three of our Sleepy Stars will say goodnight,"

She watches, alert eye out until all of the civilians have filed out before she makes her way down the corridor and makes her way to the lobby where the Irving's are still gathered with Abraham looking on proudly.

"Good job Macey," she smiles 

"Thanks! I can't believe I just did that. On tv."

"Keep it up and you might win," She winks and looks over at Abraham.

"How was I?"

"You were a'ight" she teases when she sees a familiar and unwelcome face. "I'm not ready for this," she whispers, clapping Abrahams shoulder she heads for the nearest exit when her phone rings again. 

"Hello?"

"Abbie!" it's Luke's voice. 

"Luke?"

"What the hell happened to you? I've been calling and calling, I thought something had happened to you"

"Calm down Luke calm down, what's up?"

"She passed." he says quietly. "I've been calling you to tell you she went into the hospital last night and she passed this morning. Funeral's next week."

Abbie stops in her tracks. "I'm coming. Give me the address I'm coming," she hangs up and heads for her car. They'd called her for it shortly after she'd left Abraham's studio.

"Whoa, where are you headed?"

"Oh Andy," she breathes as she hustles. "That was Luke, grandmother morales passed," 

"We'll take my car," Andy volunteers. "Best man, best friend, I should be there," she smiles gratefully at him. "

"I'm going to head home and grab some stuff, you know where my house is? pick me up there," 

"Will do, see you in a bit."

Abbie puts her car in gear and starts thinking of what she should bring, what she will say to Luke in his grief. 

*********************

Earlier that day the manager of the book store called in a contractor to investigate a rattling sound in the vents. 

"It's this strange pinging sound," 

"I'll check it out," Ed grumbles. When he's not taxing he works another trade. He's a hardworking man. Barely sleeps most days. Got two kids to put through college. Sleep is a small sacrifice. 

He removes the grate and feels around, feeling nothing, then cranes his neck in with a flash light and sees something glinting in the light. Using a hook he fishes it out, polishes it off and whistles. 

"Found your problem," he declares.

"What was it?"

"Looks like an engagement ring. If you could just sign my work order here, please." In his van he turns it over, squinting to read the writing, it's still got grime on the inside of the band, the words are illegible. 

Should get something decent if I pawn it, he thinks. Anything extra in his pocket will help that college fund.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I haven't decided whether or not Macey has her chair or not in this story, thoughts? 
> 
> Also. Abbie is rushing to Luke because well, he's still her fiance and he's grieving, she should be there, alright?
> 
> That's going to be an interesting drive with Andy though.


	31. A Bad Idea Is A Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed gets outsmarted. 
> 
> A little catch up with the others after Abbie left with Andy.
> 
> And if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter my apologies! just been going through some stuff, found it hard to write. Updates coming this weekend! hopefully!
> 
> Once more HUGE THANK YOU for sticking with me on this crazy journey of an AU and commenting and reading and encouraging me SO MUCH. <3

The pawnbroker had turned the ring around and around after examining it. "seven hundred," he offered. Ed shook his head.

"nine,"

"seven,"

"You see the cut on it? easily two grand, minimum,"

"Used and engraved. You think it's gonna go for top dollar in it's state?" the owner shoots back.

"eight fifty then,"

"seven," he retorts.

"eight" Ed insists.

"six hundred"

"seven!" 

The owner grins. "Deal." quickly swiping the ring off the counter and shoving a wad of bills in Ed's hand.

"You sneaky bastard," Ed curses. 

"Says the man pawning someone elses' ring," he muses and Ed leaves quietly, though annoyed. But at the very least, he's seven hundred dollars richer. 

************************

Abbie changes out of her police uniform and into a grey shift and blue and black hooded coat, it started thundering mere seconds after she'd gotten back in the house. She rummaged around for a change of clothes, considered leaving Orion a message that she might not be able to run security tomorrow night, but to hell with that, she can deal with it in the morning. She dashes out in the rain with her duffle, slipping easily into the car where Andy holds the door open with an umbrella over head before he shuts her door and skips around to the drivers side. 

"Thanks for this Andy," she chatters and shakes, cold water running down her nose. 

Andy glances at her and reaches in the back for a blanket. "Here," he offers, "And anytime Abbie, have I ever let you down?"

I've never given you the chance to, she thinks as he backs out of the driveway. She shoots a quick text to Jenny that she's headed out of town to Luke's family home, a brief run down of events and gets an instant response.

"Give him my condolences. We're still out with Abraham and the Irving's. Call if u need me"

Lightening cracks ahead of them and the rain falls heavily all around. 

"Also, thank's for joining that makeshift security team too,"

Andy gives her his shy slow smile. "Again. Anytime." 

It only occurs to her then, that since that mistletoe incident, Abbie hasn't been alone with Andy, not once, that the moment had gone unremarked, stashed away in far away memory, passed off as holiday folly. Yet her mind chooses now to taunt her with it, to wonder how Andy is coping with being Luke's best man. You know better, she scolds. Don't open that can of worms---but doesn't Andy bless his soul save her the trouble and start talking anyway?

"So, how've you been holding up? Everything on track for the big day?" she tries not to notice the forced cheer he puts behind the words. Ignores the image she has in her mind of him plastering on a pinched smile the night Luke had proposed. 

"So far so good I guess? no wedding is perfect,"

"But so long as it's the right people it'll be fine," he says, but it lacks conviction.

"Mhmm," she nods, turning her head out the window. The rain comes down in sheets, everything outside is a blur, hard to see, and Abbie only then realizes she's excruciatingly tired. She's had a long day, her mind is weary and her limbs relax into the car seat, eyes fluttering shut though she doesn't mean for them to, and before she can tell her self, don't fall asleep Mills, she does. 

Out like a light.

"And if you're positive about Luke, well everything will go off….without a hitch! right? Abbie? Abbie?" he turns his head and sees her leaned on the window, face so graceful and beautiful in sleep and Andy smiles. "Did I ever have a chance with you, Abbie?" he asks softly. "Is there a chance I could still?"

***************************

"Icha--what happened to you?"

"Miss Jenny," Crane points vaguely to the pair that has sauntered over to the Irving clan "Abbie's sister," he surmises. "Visited upon me a 'beat down' this afternoon at SHU. It's not funny Abraham," he drawls. 

Abraham stifles a chuckle. "And yet you're standing still,"

"If anything can be said for the Mill's women, they are as kind as they are strong. She helped me to my feet afterwards and promised that 'so long as I keep my ahem Soggy Worthless Tea Bag Douche Bag Self away from Abbie she won't, what did she say? rip my head off and shove it up where the sun don't shine," 

Abraham blinks. "That's creative,"

"Art history prof. Creativity runs in their family," he replies blithely. "Abbie?"

"Bolted the second she thought she saw you coming, haven't seen her since,"

"Tonight wasn't the time, anyway." he claps him on the shoulder. "You were great tonight. Well done."

"Thank you, Ichabod," He smiles at his friend and then starts to drift back towards his pupils family. 

"I think I'll head home," he volunteers as he locks eyes with Jenny across the lobby. " Before Miss Jenny's mind takes a turn,"

"No one's mind can take as dangerous a turn as yours," 

"I'll allow that because tonight was your night. Have fun celebrating, I've got to head home and vote for my favourite Sleepy Star," he jokes and slips quickly and quietly out the door. 

****************************  
Andy Brooks: December 2014- July 2015

He should have seen it coming, but still dazed from the surreal feeling of kissing Abbie and just narrowly being caught, Andy couldn't bring himself to voice the protest that had mustered and died with a whimper in his throat. 

Andy had pictured knocking Luke over while he knelt on bended knee, grasping Abbie's hand in his and making a mad dash from the party, fleeing away from all prying eyes before making his fumbling declarations of his feelings, at long last. The bravado had been with him for the briefest of times mere minutes ago beneath the mistletoe, surely it shouldn't so thoroughly evade him now? There had been a scolding in Abbie's eyes, yes, an admonishment for his slight against his friend and peer, but there had been just a glint of surprise there too, maybe even intrigue. Had they a moment longer there might have been words exchanged, feelings proclaimed. She might have asked 'why?' and he'd have said. 'Because I can't stand by any longer,' 

But….he's a nervous skittish coward. Truth be told. Has been for years. Terrified of being turned down and becoming a department joke. 

Imagine his dismay when Luke asked him to be his best man. 

One would think that knowing she's getting married would eradicate all romantic thoughts Andy held for her, but no. They held fast. They niggled at him if she ever shot him a smile before leaving the office, walking alongside Luke. The engagement party Luke had insisted on had been nothing short of enduring a terrific nightmare. 

He'd been wishing, hoping, dying for a chance to speak to Abbie alone, but it never came. It was always she's out on a case, her office day working through pile after pile of paper work. Her day off when she was at the gym, or visiting with Luke's family, preparing for the wedding, all of those other life matters that kept getting in his way. Until now.

It's a disgusting thought and he shouldn't have it. 

They're on their way to a grieving man, to be a shoulder to cry on and prepare funeral arrangements for his grandmother.

Yet. Here, in the car, once she wakes up, they've got another hour in the drive to go, this is possibly the very first and last opportunity for him to say what is on his mind. 

It's that or make a scene on the wedding day itself.

But that's plan B.

*******************************

July 2015

Abbie groans, straightens and looks out the window. 

Andy glances at her. "It stopped storming a while ago. We've got another hour." 

Abbie nods distractedly, detangling herself from the blanket and jacket, fanning herself. Outside the terrain passes by in gloom and pinpricks of light, the glowing orbs of other cars zooming past. She leans her head on the window, feeling the cool glass against her skin. She wonders what awaits her at the Morales family home. If Luke will be stoney faced or openly teary eyed and mourning. Will he cling to her and sob into her shoulder? Murmuring and choking on fond memories and deep regrets? 

Abbie and grief are not strangers by any means but she's gotten rather close to her own personal melancholy and not so intimate with others. That episode with Abraham today might have been one of the first instances where she truly allowed herself to take part in another's pain. And even that had gone as quickly as it had come. She knew how to be sympathetic, sure, when you have to tell a family their child is dead or going to jail there's a certain degree of kindness and empathy you must show. But besides a pat on the hand, and comforting words, perhaps a follow up visit if it's an investigation, the encounters are brief and fleeting. No need to spend days among them, hearing them lament and wail and cry or attempting to pry words or emotions from them when they have gone mute in their pain.

Abbie did all of those things and had gone through it alone. She worries she's not up to par to help someone else through this process. She looks down at her phone and shoots him a quick text. "Another hour to go, I'll see you soon." and hits send. Just so she feels like she's saying something, so while he's sitting there with his family milling about in varying stages of accepting or disbelieving this loss he has a small reassurance. She takes a deep shuddering breath and looks ahead. 

Andy catches her slipping her phone back in the pocket of her dress. "Luke?"

"Yeah. Just letting him know how far we are." 

"You really love him, huh,"

"I----whoa!" 

A driver pulls a quick lane change and Abbie snaps forward as Andy breaks abruptly. "Are you okay?"

Abbie hisses as she leans back in the seat, Andy quickly pulls over and unfastens his seat belt, leaning towards her. "Abbie? you alright?"

She rubs the back of her neck, nodding the affirmative but Andy is already in full care mode, hands on her neck, turning it slightly just so and so, brushing her hair back and peering into her eyes and noticing a split second too late that he's too close. 

This is too close.

Mistletoe close.

"I'm fine," Abbie breathes, trying to discern what's going on in his mind, and she's sure he's about made it up to do something stupid---

not wrong, her conscious interjects. Interesting. Most would assume kissing an engaged woman is BOTH----

Her phone flares to life in her pocket. Andy pauses as Abbie whips it out. Text from Luke.

"Thank you so much for being there for me babe. Drive safe and see you---Hey!" she protests when Andy takes the phone away from her and settles back into his seat, though he doesn't put the car in drive. 

"Abbie"

"Don't do it Andy,"

"You can't go through with this,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the worst cliff hanger


	32. Sorry Not Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy and Abbie on that car ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another forsaken short chapter. Sorry!
> 
> I have everything planned out from here though! should have updates by next week! 
> 
> We have a funeral to get through, the rest of the talent show, that missing ring and figure out what Ichabod's been up to!

To emphasize his determination Andy takes the key out of the ignition and turns in his seat, facing her. 

Mildly impressed with his boldness Abbie folds her arms and looks at him expectantly. She expects Andy to blush, mumble incoherently, crumbling under her gaze and to retreat. She is rudely surprised when that is the precise opposite of what happens next. 

"You're making a mistake. You might know Luke inside out but he doesn't know you,"

"And you do?" she drawls, and she'd be amused if they weren't pulled over on the side of road in the middle of the night. "Just, tell me why I should listen to you. Hmm? The man that has been playing ring around the rosy with me for what, five years? All of a sudden I'm getting married and NOW is when you decide to make up your mind? Pardon me not feeling flattered,"

"I screwed up. I own that. But Abbie I have been trying to work up the nerve, and I have always expected you'd never give me a chance."

"It's not like you truly ever gave me any choice in the matter," she snaps. "I've BEEN hurt Andy. I KNOW what hurt is, I know fear, but that doesn't mean you stop taking chances and trying to find a way to live better or fight for something worthwhile or discover what's amazing in life. You don't just surrender and give up," 

"Then why are you marrying Luke?" he presses. "Is he your 'something worthwhile'? the 'amazing' thing you've discovered in life?"

"You don't get to define those things for me Andy. You don't get to do this to me right now either. It's selfish and unfair." She waves him off and Andy grabs her hand in his.

"If it's so important, where's your ring?"

Startled, Abbie gapes at him, forgets to spin the lie as quickly as should.

"You lost it."

"It's getting sized," she recovers.

"No. I think you lost it. You've lost your engagement ring. Does Mr. Worthwhile know?"

"This is very beneath you," Abbie grunts as she pulls her hand away from him. "Now drive the damn car Brooks,"

"I just want to know between bickering and rolled eyes when did that become love? you know I've never heard you say it?"

"Say what,"

"That you love Luke." 

"Andy," she says slowly, deathly calm. "You're going to get me to the Morale's house, quietly, without further incident, and we're not going to talk about this anymore, alright? We're not going to entertain this poorly timed conversation, in any fashion. I'm not going to tell Luke his best friend and best man tried to talk me out of marrying him tonight, and we'll carry on, as before."

"So nothing that happens on this drive, not addressing it, talking about it, nothing whatsoever."

"Nope. Everything, from this moment, completely forgotten irrelevant and----"

He kisses her. 

********************************  
Luke Morales: December 2014

He had been talking to another officer, chatting laughing, eying the clock when he saw Abbie conversing with Irving's wife and then quickly slipping outside, probably for some air. Abbie wasn't big on appearances in that way. Polite, idle surface chatter about the weather and the holidays and someone just told a clever joke, Ha ha ha! 

No.

Wasn't her style. And knowing that, Luke had felt it was quite alright for her to take a moment alone to regroup, give her some time to clear her head and take a few deep breaths. He certainly needed the time himself. He'd stopped listening to his peers about four sentences back and was rehearsing his proposal in his head, intermittently patting the assuring bulk of the ring box in his pants pocket. How she'd failed to notice that when they'd walked in, side by side was a fortunate wonder. He considers following her outside a second later, it would be a nice quiet moment just for the two of them, but then he sees Andy stroll out the same door and he hangs back, deciding that once his friend makes his departure he can and Abbie can have their moment alone.

He counts to ten and decides that's about enough time for Brooks to wish Abbie a Merry Christmas and starts rounding the corner, heading towards the entrance to the terrace and Abbie is on her way inside, he's sure of it before her dress swishes back out of view and something like panic rises in his throat as he picks up the pace longer, broader strides before he reaches them "Andy," he hears her say. Then again, "Andy," they are standing apart, Andy's face is flushes and Abbie is looking at him strangely. He glimpses the mistletoe overhead and reasons that Andy probably gave her a peck on the cheek and she's teasing him about it. That must be it. He hopes that's it.

Luke has noticed that Andy seems to make a strange effort to be around them both while at the office, a sudden need for coffee is Abbie is taking her break at the same time. It's been that way for years, but only since Luke started seeing Abbie does he ever start to consider feeling off put by it. But, it's also Andy, who's the equivalent of a harmless puppy, eager to befriend, and no menace to him whatsoever. So he's confident enough when he pulls Abbie in and throws his arm around his comrades shoulder and decided that perhaps a public proposal might be the better way to go. A proclamation to all those present, in case they've dared to doubt, that him and Abbie are together, and intend for it to be so, for a very, very, very long time. 

He pretends that he doesn't see the way Andy's eyes twitch when he declares him his Best Man.

***********************************  
July 2015

Abbie flies out of the car when they pull into the driveway, she doesn't stop to dig out her bags, she charges straight up to the house, banging on the door, and when Luke answers, she sweeps her arms wide and gratefully let's him crumble into them, holds him, pets and kisses his hair and tells him forget her luggage, she doesn't even care about the things she's packed and with her hands locked so tightly around his marches into the fray of the grieving family she's marrying into at the end of this month and she is prepared to offer them kisses and condolences and be an absolutely perfect daughter in law. 

She is unsettled by what happened on the drive and suddenly finds that comforting the bereaved is a very welcome distraction.

When Andy comes in later, carrying both her bag and his Luke goes over and gives him a manly embrace. "Thanks man, thanks,"

Andy pats him on the back. "Anytime man, that's what friends are for,"   
Abbie would wretch if grandpa morales wasn't sobbing on her shoulder. 

Luke guides him away, presumably to a guest bedroom but she hears him questioning Andy on the way up. "What happened to your face?"

"Rescued a cat this morning,"

Luke regards him suspiciously. "Rescued a cat," he repeats.

"Cats have claws, don't they?" he shoots back, clearly annoyed. Shrugging, Luke continues showing him to his room. 

And it wasn't a such a strange explanation, really. Cats do have claws. 

But so does Abbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......They're probably going to need an organist for that funeral. 
> 
> Wonder who's going to volunteer to play? Orion? Abraham? or just a local church member? hmmmm.


	33. Unbecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self examinations.

This is not the sweet, tentative kiss that he gave her at the Policeman's Ball. 

This is not quiet, gentle, hands clasped hopeful lips taking a chance.

This is sure, clear headed, well intentioned, purposeful crush of his lips on hers and a hand twining through her hair and sheer anxiety fires off in her brain. Shock, she thinks, this is what they call shock. There is no way Andy has pulled over on the side of the road to berate her about marrying his friend and then has come on to her in his car and she's confused, to say the least.

All those times of thinking that maybe Andy liked her, and maybe he doesn't, and perhaps this is a date and perhaps not, has always carried a strange air of what if. An unknown possibility that she had long since stopped wondering about because Andy was aloof and as she understood it, commitment phobic. The fact that he is answering all of those what ifs at this moment has her head in a whirl wind. She can't process this, she doesn't know how to process this, this is not a safe time to challenge what she feels in her heart and mind because the situation is insane. Bonafide madness and she will not bear apart of this brand of treachery, she cannot and that's when she claws at him and he reels away from her, panting and blinking with wild eyes she huffs, straightens in the seat and gives him a sharp glare. "Drive," she instructs. 

And while Andy is foolish, irrational, and sloppy, he has a good enough memory. They won't speak of this again. 

**************************

Abbie is lying on Luke's childhood bed, Luke's limbs are wrapped around her, head resting softly on her chest. She absentmindedly runs her fingers through his hair, listening to him murmur and mumble the last moments at his grandmother's side. Hearing his pain makes Abbie's eyes water, makes her heart soft and tender and she pulls him closer. No matter how natural a course it may be, death will never cease to catch the left behind unawares. It never knocks first. It doesn't call after the visit to assure you , yes, your loved one crossed over safe, yes they were greeted by others, yes they're happy, don't worry. Death visits upon the unsuspecting and leaves an unexplainable void that you must fight to fill with words, memory or tears. She understands this in a deeper way than Luke could ever know, and right now, with him vulnerable and broken down in a way she has never seen him before Abbie has the insane notion to come clean. About everything. About things she'd sworn she would keep secret safe and away from the man she plans to marry. But in all of Abbie's efforts to protect herself over the years, to compartmentalize her past and pieces of who she is, Abbie has built herself a fortress of secrets and has lost herself in a labyrinth of her own making, to the point that nowadays she is unsure of who she is. 

"Thank you," he says for what is surely the tenth time tonight. 

"Have you ever known me to leave someone in the lurch, Morales?"

He leans up and kisses her. "Never." he reaches for her hand, stroking the back with his thumb. "How long before you get the ring back?"

"I don't know," she says softly, and waits for the words to click in his mind.

"What do you mean, you don't know? he asks, sitting up straighter, his face a conflict of questions. 

"It was never being sized," she confesses, meeting his gaze head on. "I have no idea where it is. I lost it Luke."

"You, lost, it?" a note of disbelief creeps into his voice. She wonders if he's planning to be angry or disappointed with her, or even both. "When exactly were you going to tell me?"

"I was trying to find it. You said you don't want secrets, well I'm not keeping them anymore. Our photographer got in an accident, I've found a new one, I used to date him the year before we got together. His names Calvin Riggs. I'm working security for Orion's new show. The man who was singing at coffee house, the song from my album? His names Abraham Van Brunt and he's singing for our wedding since Joe Corbin's band is busy with out of town gigs. And the album I wrote, that I never told you about, I wrote it a year after I miscarried a child for Ichabod Crane, who just got back in Sleepy Hollow, and I was running away from him---"

"---he was chasing you?-----"

"We haven't spoken in ten years, I didn't want to see him, and yes, the loose ring, that DID need to be sized, I guess it fell off at some point in the confusion. Yes Luke. I've lost the ring,"

You didn't mention Andy, her brain wheedles but Abbie buttons her lip. She thinks she's surely just unloaded enough information.

Luke regards her for a moment and the look in his eyes hurts. He gazes at her like she's a stranger. Like he never knew her and could never recognize her again. And then the truth of it settles into her stomach. He's heartbroken. He is stricken, abandoned and confused. This was a cruel thing to do she thinks in the aftermath of it, as he slowly, dazedly extracts himself from the blankets and paces the room thrice. At last he heads for the door and casts one final lost look over his shoulder before leaving her alone in his bed of memories, cocooned among his childhood so perfectly preserved, remnants of the boy he was, who would grow into the man that had only ever wanted to love her completely and she had worked so thoroughly to hide herself, to be innocent and uncomplicated she's managed to hurt the pompous hidden good heart of Luke Morales. The same day that his grandmother dies. 

Abbie has never lain in a bed so cold. Her mother's had felt warm for weeks after she'd passed and Jenny had gone, snuggled in among the old blankets and her pillow clutched tight. Her own bed had still comforted her with it's surety and enduring familiarity, a long standing relationships she had with that old frame, carrying from child to teen to tumultuous young adult to the woman she is today----mere days ago she was able to define who that was. What she stood for. But mere days ago she wasn't confronted with four different versions of her past all colliding around a pivotal life moment, suddenly forced to face who she is and shed light in all of the dark corners she has left forgotten and unswept for years. Years. A freaking decade. Of stripping away hurt and painting on new facades and undoing. 

It is here, in the worn sheets of Luke's past, staring at his high school photos on the wall, there's that baseball tournament photo he'd told her about. And his prom, there's his trophy collection and the book shelf of full of well worn copies of his childhood faves---she remembers all of these things, the bits and bites that he has fed her, shared with her. He's never held back. 

It is here that Abbie realizes that all of her efforts spent becoming strong, confident, private, that she was unbecoming Abbie, all along. 

Unbidden weary tears wander down her face, trying to retrace her steps, to decide which turn will lead her back home to who she's meant to be. 

*****************  
Calvin settles in behind his computer, calling up old files, looking over some of his old work. He reflects on the year he's had, and how he feels about hearing Abbie's getting married, second guesses his blind willingness to photograph the wedding. It had seemed a sound idea at the time, but in hindsight? no man should see another's bride in the ways he had seen Abbie. He still has so many photos of her, innocent fun ones they'd taken together and ones that had he a mind to torture himself while he'd been away, always pictured them as a happy couple. Something that could grow, but there was something, someone, standing between Abbie and her own heart. Even this agreement to marriage to Luke comes across as a sort of farce to him. He'd seen the shifting emotions and what she looked like laid bare, what haunted her that one night and of course, Abbie is a capable, strong woman, and he doesn't think she's beyond being wounded or scarred, but he doesn't quite believe yet, that she's free. 

Certainly he's in no place to start interjecting himself in the picture, whatever he feels for her, which is a strong care now, a sure steady investment in her well being, embers, that given the proper attention could be stoked into a raging burning love, but he's never been a man for turning worlds upside down. And from what he's seen, Abbie's desperately trying to keep hers upright. 

Yet, he ponders if she has ever thought on that night. She's never seen the pictures from the Captive shoot. Doesn't even know he called it that. She refused to look at them afterwards, merely grateful for the experience. Abbie has seen and laughed at and critiqued every other photo Calvin had ever taken of her. There isn't one that he retains that she didn't approve, but everything regarding that night of naked internal revelation, she knows nothing of. Has never looked upon her sharp edged fragility with her own eyes. 

Clicking on the desired file, Calvin hopes he can give her a gift in changing that. 

******************  
In the morning the kitchen is solemn but full. Luke has cousins, aunts and uncles who Abbie has only met a handful of times, and now, with the cloud of grief hanging over them all, she doesn't take offence if they blunder her name or merely blink in her direction. Luke, grandpa Morales, his parents, and herself are going out today to look for Minerva's casket. 

Abbie doesn't relish the idea, it brings more unwelcome memories of burying her mother, but today is not the day to be bitter about the past. Each and every day she is realizing it more and more. Luke greeted her with a kiss to the cheek and a hand on her hip but has otherwise stayed on the opposite side of the room, leaving her no one to talk to but Andy, who slinked in after everyone else, and she is determined not to draw attention to any tension that lingers between them.

He does have the grace to mouth a quiet "I'm sorry" when their eyes meet over the table and Abbie acknowledges it with a curt nod of her head and nothing more. It's startling for a house so full to be so quiet at once, as if they're afraid chatter will summon Death back to their doorstep to claim another. Everything spoken in hush hush and mere breaths, it's the grieving tongue, voices that are scared of being too strong lest they crack and breakdown into heaving sobs and torrents of tears. She finishes her tea quickly and excuses herself from the room. 

In the hall she dials Jenny. "Hey," she answers on the first ring. "Everything alright?"

"I don't know about that," she whispers, moving further down the hall, a quick glance over her shoulder. 

"Oh, this ought to be good. What happened? When's the funeral?"

"We're going to look for the casket in a few, but well I told Luke,"

"What, exactly?" Jenny asks slowly. 

"Lost ring, Ichabod, Orion, Calvin,"

"Well damn," 

"And Andy made a move on me in the car,"

Spluttering, coughing, then silence. "Brooks? Andy Brooks?"

"Did I stutter?" Abbie hisses.

There's a low whistle on the other end before Jenny replies. "Does Luke---?"

"No. Nothing about that. Couldn't tell him after everything else,"

"And your horrible timing," Jenny adds.

"Thanks for that," 

"Well, what did he say?"

"Nothing, walked out of the room last night and hasn't said boo to me all morning. I don't know what's going on. I guess any minute now he's gonna tell me the weddings off,"

"He's not gonna call off the wedding." she pauses. "But, maybe he'll want to postpone it? What with the funeral being so fresh,"

"That's a fair point. I'll ask him if he wants to."

"By the way, I ran into Professor Ichabod Crane, yesterday,"

"What?"

"On campus."

Abbie can't decide if it's dread or anticipation that bubbles in her stomach. "Jenny. What did you do?"

"I slugged him." she replies off handedly. "Promised him I'd gift him a loose tooth if he causes you any trouble, before I ripped his head off and shoved it up his---"

"Oh Jenny," she groans, laughing lightly.

"What, I'm a woman of my word. And your sister. Lethal combination."

Abbie shakes her head. "You really shouldn't have done that, but thank you." 

Jenny smiles on the other end. "I love you Abs. Everything will work out fine. You stay there with Luke, and let me know what you guys decide about the wedding,"

"Thanks Jenny, love you too." as she hangs up she turns in the hall to be confronted with Luke. Heaven only knows how long he's been standing there, how much he's heard. Was there anything he wasn't supposed to hear? 

"We're ready to leave," he says softly, gesturing for her to follow him as he walks past her towards the front door. 

****************************  
Crane listens to Abraham over coffee the next morning, after he has regaled him with the thrill of performing on live television and his anxiety about making it to the next round tonight, and then, as if an after thought, casually mentions "Abbie's getting married by the way, I forgot to tell you. I'm playing for her wedding."

The mug in his hand shatters as it hits the floor.

***************************

Grandpa Morales and Tony, Luke's father, had a falling out over what colour the lining of the casket should be, and then another disagreement over the wood, and one more over the headstone. 

"Ervie was an angel," Grandpa insisted. "She should have a nice tall one so I will always know my angel is as at peace," before his voice crumbled into sobs.

"Mom hated spectacles," Tony protests, and Luke often found himself playing moderator through the day between his father and elder. Abbie and Mrs. Morales had watched silently and patted the arms of the men in comfort. 

Arrangements were made and they headed back to the house. Seeing the unsure state of her engagement and current circumstances, Abbie prepares herself to call Orion and inform him of the family emergency that prevents her from running security tonight. 

She expects him to be vindictive, to sneer and whine, but all he does is sigh and then of all things, asks her to offer his condolences to Luke. They still have not discussed the secrets she unearthed, so when she goes to Luke, sitting on the front step after an early supper she's not sure what to expect. 

"What else?" he asks after awhile.

"pardon?"

"What else don't I know." he hangs his head and closes his eyes. "Is there anything that I DO know?"

"That I said yes,"

"considering you've lost your ring that doesn't offer me a lot of comfort right now,"

Abbie chews her lip, reaches for his hand. Holds it. That's all she can do.

She stays up after everyone calls an early night and switches on the television, watching on low volume. The channel is already tuned into the Seven Sleepy Stars results show, Axel Waters is saying 'good night sleep tight' to the contestants being sent home before panning to the four beaming faces that remain. There's Macey, so proudly beaming and the rip roaring female vocalist she had heard that day on her tour of the studio, the a cappella group, and lastly there's Abraham, grinning at the camera, eye's twinkling. 

And she smiles at the image of him there on that stage. Even though in her reality she has nothing to smile about.


	34. In My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham centric. He talks with the Irvings and Jenny after the results show. 
> 
> Also covering Abrahams own unique University experience. He developed a life too, during those years, new friends and experiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just. Trust me. I know where I'm going with this one.
> 
> Introducing a VERY RECENT new face. 
> 
> Everything has a purpose, I promise.

Abraham is once more milling about the Irving family, congratulating Macey and she beams brightly up at him. He's proud of Macey. Unbelievably proud of her. He met Macey in her chair, a tragic accident some years back had relegated her to it, but that had done nothing to stifle her passion for perfection, to hinder her emerging melodious young voice. It was a shock to them all that Macey could sing as well as she did. A light sweet voice, like the enchanting song of a nymph or fairy. It hasn't roughened with use or with life. It is hopeful and pure, and he thinks that is what made people vote for her so highly the previous night. That it is that strong fighter spirit shining in her face that made her rank top of the night, the first announced to be 'safe'. Perhaps he should be troubled about having such a close call, being one of the last to hear he would live to sing again for round two, but he is too happy with the fact that he's even there on that stage, stepping out of his usual bubble, so openly into the broader world. Too taken with how pleased Cynthia and Frank are, Miss Jenny and her boyfriend are there once again, all crowded around her and he's happy just looking on until Macey points to him. 

"Come over here!" she calls. "You guys are forgetting how much I owe to Abe,"

"It's all you, Macey," he smiles warmly. "But thank you for letting me share in the credit." 

Jenny turns to him then. "You. You're the one friends with Crane?"

He throws his hands up before him. "Not the face, please or if you must, avoid the nose? Can't conceal a broken nose, don't think there's enough makeup in the world. And I kinda need it to breathe,"

It takes Jenny a moment to realize he's joking. "Oh, got a sense of humour eh?" she looks him over. "I like that. Where's your lesser half?"

"Crane? he has been cowering in a corner since your encounter," he laughs. "But actually, he's went to the restroom, probably gone home by now. He took the news about Abbie getting married….strangely. I'm guessing you know all about their," he gestures vaguely in the air, frowning and brows furrowed when he thinks on it. 

"Yeah," she trails off, checking over her shoulder she grasps Abraham's arm and pulls him aside. Nick is joking with the Irving's and teasing Macey about getting her autograph so he can sell it online when she's famous. "She told me for the first time, just recently. After saying nothing for years. Literally years. And I'm her sister."

"You couldn't have known." he whispers back, "She didn't know how to talk about it without feeling victimized all over again."

"Abbie likes to be strong."

"Strength is both though. I hope you'll remind her of that. It takes bravery to be vulnerable and let your guard down. I think talking to you about it has made her stronger. Will help her heal."

Jenny raises a brow and meets Abraham's eyes. "She talked to you too. Told me about your excursion. Gotta say, I was miffed that she thought about talking to you before me,"

"I'm a low risk factor." He smiles, self deprecating and Jenny regards him, puzzled as to what he means. "I think it's clear Abbie was afraid you'd blame yourself in some way. And with other…..people, Orion,"

"Calvin, Luke, Andy," Jenny rattles off and then claps her hand over her mouth. 

"Oh. Well. She's a multifaceted woman, I can understand the string of admirers." Abraham swallows and clears his throat. "Letting them know that hurt, makes her relive it, and feel like she might, I don't know, scare them away. She's afraid of feeling that again I think, more than anything. She's built herself up to withstand it, brave any storm."

"But she's not afraid of you," Jenny probes. 

"There aren't any ties to sever. No deep bonds to leave her bereft should I---" he wiggles his fingers in the air, miming a magician, "Poof. Vanish. She won't feel she's lost anything from confiding in me,"

"How do you know she's getting married?" she wonders.

Abraham looks down shyly. "You know Joe Corbin? asked me to cover his previous commitments while he's on tour."

"You know him well?"

"Met Joe during my masters here, we used to play at the 'secret restaurant'"

"You know, Hawley was so embarrassed when he couldn't get in the other night."

"I fumble for the right brick, often. Even when I played there," Abraham chuckles and cracks his knuckles. "I'd better head home. Got songs to write and rehearse." he pauses when he notices that Jenny is still studying him. "What, what is it?"

"The way you talk about Abbie. Like she's a sheet of glass. Like you can see right through her." 

Abraham winces. "I know Ichabod. Grew up with the man. He's not a bad person, he's not. He's troubled, and that's NOT a free pass for bad behaviour, believe me we had it out night before last when he told me what had happened between him and Abbie. But. I guess I know what it's like to have your life touched by Ichabod Crane. The mark it leaves. We have that in common I guess. Vastly different experiences, but the same root cause. She sees through me too." 

Interesting, Jenny thinks. "You should come over, tomorrow. We can listen to what you're working on for next week."

"Are you sure?"

A slow smile creeps across Jenny's face. "Positive." and with that she hollers for Hawley and the pair leave the station arm in arm. Abraham gives on last wave to his student and chief competitor before making his journey home.

*********************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: September 2001

He breathes. He takes one sure deep breath once he has set foot on the soil of his new, neutral territory. Miles and miles and whole states away from Crane, Abraham breathes. The first day is crisp, bright, strange to him. These streets he doesn't know and the campus with it's winding paths and the rowdy peers racing up and down the corridors of his first year residence. He lives on a faculty specific floor, so they're musicians, all of them. Their peer mentors prance around among them in bright clashing attire, going by code name instead of their real ones. There's a team of them, a mentor for each group of ten or so of them. Abraham's assigned mentor, is a very happy friendly young man with black frames and lots of energy. He insists he will go by nothing but 'Trendy Pop' for the week of their orientation, which makes Abraham and all the others crow with laughter at the absurdity of it. Until they meet the rest of music mentor team. One's named Patches--they will learn later on that he had patches of chest hair torn out after a hard night of partying and they'd put sticky monitors on him at the hospital----Another who went by Smashmouth----due to an unfortunate collision with a rock face while he'd been hiking. And there's Happy Claps and VKO and Swiper and a barrage of other ridiculous names, at the end of the week they're learn all of the embarrassing, funny, and gross stories that had earned their elders the wacky monikers but for now, they go by these strange, strange names. There's one who goes by Giggles. Self explanatory. She likes to laugh. Frequent and often. A trilling joyous sing song you could hear across the street when they march on the hill, converging with the other exuberant, ridiculously coloured faculties and teams for cheering and concerts and dances and partying. 

But Abraham remembers Giggles as one of his first friends. She's a year his senior, with a mind for crafting music rather than performing it, though surely, if she'd had a mind to, Giggles could have become a renown soprano. He was drawn to her, that first day, with her sparkling smile and her chic glasses, dark curling hair and milk chocolate skin. She throws her arms around him in greeting, as they all do, acting as if they've known their young charges for eons rather than minutes, introduces herself, demonstrates this tell tale laugh of hers before helping Trendy Pop carrying his belongings to his room. His roommate is a dark cunning looking man named Daniel Reynolds, enrolled in the pop music program. Daniel would switch majors after the first year, finish a degree in Kin with a dance minor----Abraham had raised a brow at that---before starting a dance troupe of his own, taking it on the road. Magic something, he can't remember now. 

Sometimes that troupe danced scantily clad. They had a slot down in vegas for a time, even tour on occasion----

but the first time Abraham meets Daniel he is just another budding musician like him. Plays the drums, wants to learn how to mix and produce. For now. Giggles beams at them both a short while later, after hauling up Abraham's last box, sighing dramatically as she leans on the door frame, panting but still smiling so widely. "And the day is still young!" she laughs. Daniel is smitten with her, instantly. And Abraham doesn't deny it then, and won't for years to come, he was smitten with her too. So bubbly and unique and comfortable in her skin. Like she knows herself, has always known herself. Even if she's on a soul searching journey there is an awareness to her that she knows where's she's going, how she'll end up. Utter and complete faith that if you do it with heart, it MUST prosper. Straightening, she twists and stretches, limbering up to head back downstairs and haul more boxes. "I know it's hard being away from home for the first time," she says. "You're out of your parents house on your own,"

"I'm out of the country." Abraham interjects and her eyes go wide. 

"No way! where from?"

"England"

"I'm north of the border," she grins. "Canadian." 

And he feels even more stupidly that they are kindred in that they literally abroad from home. Daniel is merely a two hour drive away. He'll go home every weekend. But Giggles----who he'll learn is actually called Chantal Adams----isn't hopping any flights soon. 

October 2001

Chantal's family comes down one weekend in October to celebrate the Canadian thanksgiving with her, they leave behind enough food that she comes into the residence and shares the abundance with the first years on Abrahams floor. He's back late from class however, and misses the feast.

Except she's put a plate aside for him, wrapped and waiting on his desk. 

Daniel jokes that had he been any later he would have devoured his share. 

December 2001

The music faculty holds a charming ritual on last day of classes known as 'Tuba Christmas'. It's when they all gather in the main building lobby around the christmas tree and drink hot chocolate and eat cookies and candy canes and sing carols, led of course by the brass instrumentalists, one of which carries the joyous burden of a sous-a-phone. "Like in doctor suess" Chantal grins. Chantal made gift bundles for all of her friends and her assigned first years. But she included Daniel and Abraham because they made her laugh. A lot.

She sent him a Christmas card too. He never told Ichabod about it. He's always suspected that Crane would be jealous of him having new friends.

January 2002

Applications went out for students to join the mentorship groups for the following year. Both he and Daniel applied, and made the Music Team. Until Daniel switched majors and joined the Kinesiology faculty Team. Chantal had helped them fill out their applications. Had been delighted to hear Abraham would be mentoring first years with her the following year. 

March 2002

"Be good," she winks at him, throwing an arm around both his and Daniel's shoulders as they move out of residence. "Don't forget to be back in time for training," she scolds. 

September -November 2002

It's surreal to be on the other end of all that excitement. Jumping up and down beside Chantal---who goes by Burlesque this year----and himself nicknamed Brother Bear. He'd told Chantal about his friendship with a very…..troubled Crane and she had volunteered it during their mentor training week, no on had objected, had agreed it sounded friendly and welcoming. Like someone who would look out for their frosh. 

He'd also watched the movie with their floor last winter and had famously cried during it. Daniel had teased him about it for weeks. 

It's strange now too, because he sees way more of Chantal. He lives off campus this year, once more with Daniel because it seemed logical, and Daniel is a smooth talking sly fox that could coax girls into their house parties. Abraham is not smooth. He is friendly and good natured, but there's no cunning. She visits them often, she lives on her own this year, more time to compose and work solely on her music. They plan events for the frosh together and other faculty things. She helps him with theory and listens to his work. He goes to her studios infamously racy recitals where they sing and dance Cell Block Tango and Hey Big Spender. He has a girlfriend for a brief period of time. Daniel goes through three. 

Chantal doesn't date, which amazes him. He holds out stupid hope that it's because she has a crush on him too. But he can never work up the nerve to ask her out. And she loudly declares her preoccupation with her craft otherwise. 

January 2003

Chantal is a good friend to him and Crane both, though he'll never know it. She reminds Abraham to call Ichabod when he is sorely tempted not too. She encourages and nurtures him and lets him grumble his frustrations with music and the future. She looks out for him. And it's strange, because aside from his family, who were scarred by the passing of Eddie and feared losing him, and Crane, who perhaps by necessity of the kindness Abraham showed him, returned the vigilance, Chantal is the first who cares for no good reason other than she likes to care. Chantal has helped shape Abraham. He, who has always been steadfast and loyal to his friends, due to distance, had been greatly tempted to stray from habit. To forget and move on. She reminded him that the heart was infinite and could hold vast amounts of good will, forgiveness and love, if they allow it. If they take the time to learn, how, to love, in all it's different ways. She shows him unaffected, untethered, love. Pure and simple care. He'll always remember that. When he asked her once, why she had left home to come to school in the states she had laughed. "Same reason as you. Why settle for same old same old?"

"But home is cozy, familiar, safe."

"Home is where you make it. What you make it. Besides," she had smirked at him. "Familiarity is just an excuse not to run"

He remembers those words. To this day.

September 2003

Over the summer Daniel discovered exotic dancing. Told Abraham how much extra money he had. And well, how good he was at it. When October hit and Abraham had shopping to do, and no paying gigs coming up, he grudgingly joined Daniel on the Gold Member stage. 

He won't look back on it fondly, but at the time, it was, kinda fun, you get up there and writhe a bit and come home with money and phone numbers. They quickly become a wanted duo. They called them Cookies and Cream. Somehow Daniel started getting lined up for acts where they just, danced, fully clothed, and Abraham was a quick enough study to tag along for that too, with a few other guys from Kin that Daniel knew, and they started their troupe back then. It carried on into January until they were back at Gold Member doing a show and some girls had dragged their bashful friend in for her birthday. The friend was Chantal.

"Abraham?" she'd asked after he'd just slithered on the floor towards her, realizing a second too late after removing his tear away trunks who was sitting in front of him. She'd giggled non stop. "Come down from there," she'd scolded, taking his hand and leading him out of there, forever. She got him into work-study at the church where she was just beginning to learn the pipe organ. "Not trying to convert you or anything. But when you make it big, you don't want people digging that up. I mean, all publicity is good publicity. But, grief, how long have you two been doing that? Do they even know how old you are?" 

She also found him a part time job in the Music Library. 

Every now and again she'd still tease him and Daniel both. "Hey Cookies and Cream what's shaking?"

March 2004

It is after Music Formal. It's his third year, it's her last. She's going back home to finish her Masters, misses the Canadian winters that never end and the deer that leap and run through her hometown. Misses the hustle and bustle and excitement of Toronto when she visits the friends she's left behind there too. Tonight is farewell. 

They are at his place. They are lying on his bed, still in their fancy clothes. Her dress poofs up around her and she smiles at him as she whispers her parting words, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. "I want you, to keep being awesome you. To find someone who makes you more of who you are, and even a little bit of what you aren't." 

He twirls her spongy soft curls around his finger. "Chantal," he begins but she shakes her head.

"I do love you, you know." She says, leaning up on her elbows. "But not the way you need. Nor deserve. I hope, being my friend, that you've learned something from me. I've certainly learned from you. I love you, Abraham Van Brunt, in my way," and she leans in then, pressing her lips to his, and Abraham has waited since the day they met for this. And yet, this is not a kiss that begins something, rather it ends it. It closes a door, gently, softly, with good intent and warm smiles and tender embraces she lets him go. "I wish you, the courage to fly," 

He remembers those words too.

He never told her, but Chantal had taught him how to love. Not the swept up eternal passionate kind. But the honest true, uncomplicated one. It just was. She'd shown him that loving could also mean letting go. 

July 2015

A love that had never hurt him, consumed him to the point of losing himself. That had bolstered his confidence and nurtured the core of who he was. It was a well of strength that he drew on, remembering who he was when Crane tested him, when his social circle unexpectedly narrowed when he relocated to Sleepy Hollow. 

Abraham has friends yes, but no one that gave him as much as Chantal had, without drawing something back from in return. And she had been right, of course. Chantal didn't love him the way he wanted to be loved, would have wanted to love her. She knew then that Abraham needed someone who would see him, would know the path he had walked. Someone who would still inspire him to grow like never before.


	35. Black Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion and Abraham have a friend in common, fancy that. 
> 
> There's gonna be a new face in Sleepy Hollow very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for those still reading! <3 
> 
> I've got it pretty much laid out from here, so I hope to be updating faster! (hopefully)

Orion Angel: 2012

Orion is back at his Los Angeles studio base, remastering the track, perfecting the balances and getting the base right. The vocals are on point, he lets it pipe through the room, surrounding him, a little overly proud of himself.

"Who is she?" a voice asks, teasing. Orion jolts and leaps out of his seat, locking off the equipment. 

"Grief Chantal," he gasps. "You scared me," 

Her eyes glitter with mischief, nods towards the console. "Who is she Orion, the girl you want to heal so badly?"

"Stop teasing me," he grouches, turning his back on her but Chantal only laughs. He met Chantal at a Toronto songwriters conference in 2010. She doesn't usually meddle in the pop world. Writes choral music and broadway. Brilliant lyrics, haunting melodies. All heart. It's why he'd given her his card, if she ever decided she wanted to write pop. She'd glanced at it, mildly amused before pocketing it. 

It was only afterwards, when he'd gone home and googled her that he'd realized he might have insulted her by implying he would give her a break. Now they are friends. Unlikely, genres dividing them as they do, but she's a bubble of joy to have around. When she isn't needling him, she's good company. 

"We don't keep secrets, do we?" she plops down in a chair and looks at him expectantly. 

"Member my early projects?"

"Vaguely." she singsongs and he rolls his eyes. When Chantal had called him, nearly two months after they'd met and he'd all but forgotten, she'd been in town on a lark, said she was catching a old friend's show. He'd asked who, and she'd wrinkled her nose at him, snickering. "it's not your type of show, she'd told him. Dance troupe, Act called Black Magic,"

He'd heard of them, infamous group of guys with complex, sensual choreography with a penchant for stripping down if they were so inclined. She was right, not his cup of tea. But she'd asked to come and see his set up, so he'd invited her, let her stroll through the halls, and then had played through some of his stuff. She'd shaken her head.   
"No, let me hear you, Orion,"

"Pardon me?" 

"Let me hear new born fledgling Orion. Untouched, raw, just getting started. Your first talent find." 

So he'd played Abbie's album. Chantal had listened, rapt, enthralled and when it was over had turned her eyes on him. "She's been through something huh," He'd nodded and gone silent. She'd known then, that Orion had developed feelings for the songbird who wouldn't sing. Afterwards, with very little convincing, she'd treated him to dinner, and unbidden he'd told her everything about Abbie. About the night she had appeared to him on the darkening street like an answer to his musical prayers and had inspired him after working on lacklustre mix tapes with other up and coming acts he'd stumbled across. She told him her story, nothing troubled, her musical journey and her hopes for the future. And then they talked life. 

Chantal also likes to pop in unannounced. He sighs and settles down in the chair. "Well it's her, and don't make me specify, you know who,"

"Abbie," she replies knowingly. "Well, did it go well? That's a heart melter right there," 

He gives her a wolfish grin. "Oh it did go well did it? I'm glad for ya," she saunters in and pulls up a chair next to him. "So," she reaches and runs a finger along his arm. "You gonna get ink to commemorate it?" 

"What do you think?"

"That you like to literally wear your accomplishments. I wouldn't be surprised if you had 'Number 1' tattooed on you somewhere," 

"This from the walking flower garden," he retorts. Chantal shrugs. She has floral tattoos, one with a treble clef, for music, another with a cross, for faith, another with a heart, for love. Symbolic of her wish and endeavour for these things in her life to grow, like a garden, flourishing. 

"What're you gonna get?" 

He details his idea for her and Chantal taps her chin thoughtfully. "You can't just get a bare back. Put flowers or something on it,"

"Here we go with flowers again,"

"You love her, don't you? You want her to heal? let her be a garden. Let your feelings for her grow, and let her grow as the beautiful person she is,"

"Is everything in life a poem to you?" he asks. 

"If I'm living it right, yes." then, "So, when is she coming down here?"

"What?"

"The song won her over, didn't it?"

The uneasy look that crosses over Orion's face makes her frown. "What happened,"

"Abbie, Abbie's hung up fears. She won't ever let me get as close as I want to be."

"If she wanted you close, she'd let you, Orion, have you thought of that? she asks gently. "I know you think you 'know' her because of the music. But it's about what she doesn't say too. Sometimes what goes unsaid are the most important words."

"Are you jealous or something?"

Chantal looks askance at him before rising to her feet and heads for the door. "You're a pompous ass, you know that? She's got fears? Find out what they are, go embrace those fears and face them with her, instead of standing on the other side of the wall all 'she won't let me in'" she mocks. "Give her a place to be free and safe."

"And gather moss?" he shoots back.

"If that's not your nature Orion, and she can't accept that, And you can't accept her, where's the true love in that? What do you love? the person you want them to be or the person they are?" 

"I'll talk to you later,"

"Maybe she doesn't love you, Orion, not the way you need, not the way you deserve. And if you think about it. You're not giving her what she needs either," 

The door whispers shut behind her.   
********************************

July 2015

Abbie leaves the Morales home in the afternoon, promising to be back in two days for the funeral. "but I've got to see about the cake, and flowers for the wedding," she says to Luke, waiting to see if he'll object, protest, if in any way he'll indicate that the wedding is off. He doesn't though, he simply kisses her cheek and sends her back on the long drive with Jenny. 

"Well?"

"Told him I've got to finish up arrangements for the wedding. And he didn't say there won't be one, so," she shrugs. 

"Silence is consent? is that what we're going with here?" Jenny asks incredulously. "Anyway, I've got a surprise when you get home."

****************************

Hawley is regaling Abraham with the origins of all of the bizarre and strange things that adorn the Mills home. He got there perhaps, ten minutes ago, he brought his guitar, as Jenny had suggested, so he could start playing through some of his song choice ideas for next week. Hawley's getting into the tale about the shrunken heads when Abraham's eyes land on a picture. It's of Abbie and Luke, engagement photos he assumes, and he sees the glimmering ring, the one she's lost, and frowns. 

"What's being done about Abbie's ring?" he asks. Nick looks at him dumbly. 

"Done?"

"Well I mean she lost---"

"Heyo! guess who's home!" Jenny flings the door open, Abbie staggering in behind wondering to whom she's making these excited proclamations when she notes Abraham standing in her living room. White t-shirt today. Jeans and a vest. His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her.

"Hey!" he greets.

"Hi," Abbie starts unsurely, glancing out the corner of her eye at Jenny. "I mean, hi! congrats on last night! sorry I couldn't make it,"

"Jenny told me," he nods. "My deepest sympathies."

"Don't mean to be rude,"

"But she's gonna be anyway," Jenny cuts in as she starts creating a racket in the kitchen. 

Abbie rolls her eyes. "But what are you doing here?"

"Jenny invited me over, said I should play over my selections for next week? get some feedback?" 

Abbie opens and closes her mouth. "Um. Yeah. Sure. Sure! fine, sounds great, I'm just gonna go, wash up," she hurriedly excuses herself to her room, shoots off a quick text to Luke to tell him she's back home safe. She gets an instant response.

Love you.

She starts to type it back when Jenny hollers for her. She drops the phone on the bed and heads back out to listen to Abraham crooning in her living room, eventually he launches into some familiar tunes they all know and they sing along badly. But it doesn't matter, because it's so easy and simple and Abbie smiles the whole night. 

*************************  
Orion Angel: June 2015

"Hey babe,"

"Excuse me?" 

"Chantal," he drawls slowly. 

"That's better,"

"Can you be in my neck of the woods in July?"

"You mean next week? Me? in Sleepy Hollow? Why?"

"Got that show I'm launching, remember, I'd like for you to be on it, coach them the last two weeks. Especially finals for songwriting." 

"You're lucky I moved to New York because if I was still in Canada that'd be a big hell no."

"Tally," he pleads. "Please?"

Chantal makes an annoyed sound. "Don't Tally me, Rybaby, I'll be there. Just make sure we're done there by the first. I like to be at opening night for my shows." 

"I wouldn't dream of keeping you past your welcome,"

"Orion,"

"Yeah?"

"Bite me,"

***************************  
July 2015

Reverend Leena Reyes's usual organist is on holiday and with the sudden passing of Minerva Morales, she's going to need one for the funeral. So she makes some calls, twenty, to be exact, before one goes through to a girl she's never met, but comes highly recommended. 

"Hello?"

"I'm Reverend Reyes, you come recommended as an organist,"

"Yeah. I play steadily at my church in New York City. When do you need me?"

"Two days?"

She leans over her desk, shuffling manuscripts out of her way. She's got a piece being performed next week, and she's doing an edit for the horns in her new small musical called, 'Love Let's Go' she at last finds her calendar. "Where are you?" she nods and scribbles. "Well I'm driving through there on my way to Sleepy Hollow. I can stop and play for sure---no no don't worry about the fee----honestly----I mean it. Can you just send me the hymns they want? Thanks," She hangs up and flops back in her chair. 

"You've got a busy week ahead Adams," she mutters to herself. 

****************************  
Jenny's phone goes off during a song and she excuses herself outside to take the call. 

"Hello?"

"You called about booking a private party?"

Jenny grins with glee. "Yes, my sister's getting married, I want her to have a bachelorette she'll NEVER forget,"

"That's my business," the voice replies, velvety smooth and playful. Jenny shivers just listening to it. "Just tell us the night and we'll be there."

Jenny quickly rattles off the details, takes a moment to compose herself into a calm state before waltzing back in. They've abandoned the music in the short time she was gone. Nick is declaring that he's absolutely bushed and makes not so subtle eyes at Jenny for her to join him in the bedroom. 

"Night guys," she calls, swaggering after him. "You can crash if you want Abe, no worries here," she ignores the shocked look that registers on Abbie's face but Abraham only laughs. 

In her room she strips off quickly and crawls towards Hawley on the bed, positively glowing. 

"Whoa, what's got you riled up?" he asks. "Not that I'm complaining," as she clambers on top of him.

"Shut up and enjoy," she commands and who is he to disobey? 

Truthfully, Jenny is feeling extra proud of herself right now, because she has just booked THE hottest dance act for Abbie's bachelorette. She's hot and bothered just thinking about the wild night it'll be and she needs to unleash that excitement somewhere. And Hawley is always a happy recipient. 

When Abbie plunks down at that venue, and sees the members of Black Magic on that stage, she's going to FREAK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get back to Crane VERY SOON.


	36. What You Don't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Abe are talking still after Jenny and Nick go to bed.
> 
> Some flashbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got angstier than I planned. Oops.

The room is quiet for a moment with just Abbie and Abraham in it. It's not uncomfortable either, as natural as the chatter, the music had been mere moments before. It's easy for Abbie to lean back on the couch, Abraham at the other end, there's some sort of muffled noise coming from down the hall, but they are both studiously ignoring it. One random passionate cry shatters the peace and they can't help it, they look over at one another and cover their mouths with their hands to stifle their chuckles. 

"I'm not planning on staying the night, by the way," Abraham jokes. "I don't trust Crane alone in the house these days. Sorry," he adds. 

"It's fine. It's not like his name is sacred, you can say it around me," she sighs heavily. "After years of denying the words existed in my vocabulary, it's easier to hear them than I ever thought it would be."

"Maybe you're more healed than you gave yourself credit for," he says softly, looking at her with kind eyes. Abbie gives a small smile in return, pulling her feet up to her chest.

"Maybe,"

Abraham nods to the mantle. "That's you and Luke, right? that's the ring?"

"Yeah, that's the ring that I can't find. And the fiancee I might not have,"

"What, what do you mean might not have? Are you postponing the wedding?"

"For all I know it might be off," she laughs nervously. "I told him I lost the ring." she chews her lip, her eyes starting to water. "Told him everything I swore I'd never tell, well, anyone, but I'm breaking that rule a lot lately," she glances meaningfully at him and Abraham ducks his head. "I finally tell him, who I am, I guess, and I do it the night his grandmother died. The man is grieving, and I've just told him he's basically marrying a stranger," she tosses her head back and blinks the water from her eyes. "I mean, I don't do anything by half measures, do I? when I screw up I like to do it up big,"

Abraham catches her hand in his, rubbing the back gently. "Stop beating yourself up. It takes courage to be who you are, embrace your experiences. It makes you, Abbie. And you shouldn't be ashamed of it. Ever."

"Does it make Crane?" she asks suddenly. "Does what he did to me, make him?"

"Abbie you don't know the Crane I do,"

"I don't, know?" Abbie asks. "I. Don't. Know? What, pain? agony? loneliness? Because I lived it," She slowly rises to her feet.

"Abbie," he cautions as she advances toward him.

"Let me tell you what I know," she says quietly. "I know a Crane who was by my side day in day out for four years, who wrote me letters and sent me tea. Bought me chocolates and held my hand and snuggled with me watching holiday films. Sent me a ticket to visit him in England---he neglected to mention that did he? Where were you the summer I was carousing the Crane family home, getting to know Katrina myself?" 

"Were they ever there?" he asks. 

"What?"

"How often was the family there, Abbie," her persists.

Abbie falters suddenly, thinking. She doesn't remember much now, his mother had been there, the siblings, happy and welcoming enough, but scarce shortly after dinner, quiet in the evenings, smiling at her but uneasily at Ichabod--she'd assumed that maybe his personality was different from when they'd seen him last. Never suspected that they were waiting fearfully for him to snap. That they spend each summer when he is home this way, tip toeing around him, caught in a sort of suspended disbelief that he was changed. Always expecting the rage. Doesn't know that at night they whisper and wonder what lies he has told to entice her to come home here, wondering how she could have ever felt safe around him. Hoping that maybe, indeed, he has found some sort of control, but daring not put faith in it. Always absent unless their presence was expressly demanded. Having a small family herself, she hadn't thought it odd. Hadn't questioned the unusual amount of space the family allowed their eldest. Abraham regards her carefully as she thinks, standing up himself.

"what are you getting at Abraham?"

"They feared him for years."

"Fear? who, Crane?" even though she holds him accountable for doing her emotional violence, the idea that he could visit upon someone physical harm is beyond her. 

"He's struggled with anger issues for years, Abbie,"

Abbie shakes her head, trying to find relevance in what Abraham is telling her. 

"Did he ever mention his father?"

"No,"

"The fights?"

"Fights?"

"The knife?"

"What the hell are you talking about Abraham?"

"He pulled a knife on his father, he never told you? Mr. Crane treated Ichabod like scum on his shoe if he didn't meet his expectations and Crane snapped. He went on a downward spiral. The police came for him once. He had to get counselling. Tried to train him to be a polite good man again. But I don't think Ichabod has ever been better---not entirely. He's always been trying to fit moulds."

"What does any of that have to do with me?"

Abraham groans and grasps her arms because he needs her to understand. Not to forgive, not to excuse, but to hear him, understand that for all of the horrors Ichabod made her endure alone Abbie did not have to spend years trapped in a marriage with a man who tormented her with his sleep walking, outbursts, secrets and divided attention. The hollowing pain of knowing that the person is right there beside you, that you sleep next to them every night and yet you know they are not entirely there. She has had moments of light. She has had bright points. She has carved for herself a sort of peace that still eludes Ichabod, and had eluded Katrina until her final days. Abbie looks up at him, breathless and caught off guard by the proximity. He licks his lips.

"Katrina didn't get a happily ever after Abbie. And you didn't get the mess she got instead,"

*****************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: May 2012

"I'm scared Abraham," Abraham bolts upright from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stares at the phone and double checks the number, takes a moment before he answers.

"Katrina?"

"Did you know?" she asks.

"Know what?"

"About her?"

Abraham groans, turning on the light and tousling his short hair. "Who? about who?"

"About the child!" she sobs hysterically and Abraham worries that perhaps Katrina isn't well, that perhaps there's some medication she's missed, nothing she's saying is making any sense. "Did you know about the beast? she hisses, gulping.

"Katrina where are you?"

"In the bedroom. He just left. He….broke all of the dishes just now. Every last one Abraham. We just bought that set, we just got it and it's in pieces downstairs." she sobs. " I can still hear his voice ringing in my ears, did you know this is what he was? Why didn't you tell me?" she pleads desperately and Abraham, miles away, so impossibly far, his heart sinks for the pain he hears in her voice. This is not the first time she's called him. Over the years she has called to voice her uneasiness about the state of her marriage. Once she started mentioning a journal and gibberish about her going to a lawyer, an accountant, her will---he'd protested to that, she was too young to be thinking about her will---but she had gone on prattling until she'd hung up. But tonight is the first time she has ever sounded scared. Ever been in tears. He can't help her. He can't do anything to protect her all the way over there from whatever is suddenly transforming his friend after all of these years. 

He dreads the words that come out of his mouth next, cannot believe he's uttering them, but what choice does he have? What other advice can he give? "Have you called the police, Kat?"

"The police?" she repeats, her voice far away. "N-n-no. I don't want to get him in trouble," 

"Katrina," he replies sternly, wide awake now. "If you feel threatened, in any way, you need to get out. He's my friend but you can't stay around there to see what happens. He's always had anger issues. But they sound worse now than they've been for some time, and it's not your responsibility to deal with that,"

"He was there for me, back then,"

"You don't owe him anything." he pleads. "Ichabod doesn't own you. You need to feel safe Katrina, and if you don't, all previous ties are invalid. I….I love Ichabod like a brother, you know that. But I'm not gonna take chances on what he's capable of. And that's no way to live. A man shattering your dinnerware and roaring at you like an animal,"

"I think he just came back,"

"Please."

"Katrina?" he hears Crane hollering in the background. "Katrina? I want to…..apologize"

"I've got to go, Abraham,"

"Your safety is first, Katrina, you need to stay----" she hangs up. "Safe," he sighs, deflated. He stays up half the night, debating whether or not to call back, whether he should ask to speak with Crane and demand an explanation for what he's putting Katrina through. But what if that angers him more? he frets. What if, with no more dishes to break, he goes for the walls? and when the walls are too dented, for bones? 

Ichabod would never, he assures himself. Ichabod could never be the type of man that would hit a woman, he knows it in his soul and yet who can tell with so much distance between them? who can know? 

The next day he calls and speaks to Crane. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you need to stop making Katrina pay for it," he growls. "Stop breaking things and not being there for her, if you need help seek help Crane but you're being unfair,"

"When have I ever been fair?" he'd replied, his voice broken and hollow, haunted by his guilty choices. 

****************************  
Katrina Crane: June 2012

She eyes the cracks in the wall and the empty bottles in the kitchen warily. The drawer that she has dug up again, after all this time, flipping through the planners, she thinks of Abbie, so far away and forgotten. A woman who would have been her friend. She thinks of Abbie constantly, as she knows he does. She curses his cowardly silence and similarly his deafening shouts when they argue and bicker. The hands that are too rough when they touch, the lips that are too cold. The breaths that rasp and her fingers that claw and scratch when she takes him to bed, because he owes her some solace for her pain. He owes her at least that bodily distraction after all he has put her through. But dangerous passion is dangerous all the same. She goes for a glass of water and has no glasses to use, all swept up the previous night when they disagreed. 

She starts to pack, slowly, neatly. 

She buys a gun. Whichever way this turns, should he try to stop her, she has nothing else but the hope that he fears death, to some small degree. Because she needs to leave. 

If he truly loves her, he'll let her go.

****************************  
July 2015

"Am I supposed to count myself lucky?" Abbie rasps. 

Abraham screws up his mouth in frustration. "The man has issues Abbie, what part of that don't you understand?" he pitches away from her and whips his shirt over his head, turning around so his back is facing her and Abbie stares at him, dumbfounded. There's a bruise, right along his shoulder on the left. It's reddish blue and fading, but it's there. The sort of thing you get from impact, from a fall. "We got into it, the other day. Nothing worse than we've done to each other before, but it's no accident that Ichabod and I bang each other up." 

"He, hit you?"

"We were discussing….you. And words were exchanged,"

"Me?" Abraham shakes his head and reaches for his shirt but Abbie stays his hand. "What were you saying about me," she presses.

"I asked him for his version of events. And, look I've known Ichabod is messed up for a long time. Long, long time. Katrina was miserable near the end. And when she passed the man threw himself from a second floor window but he's all I've got and don't think I don't question myself sometimes because how can I support someone so self destructive but when he's good he's very good and when he's bad he's a scary bastard. But he's all I've got and I'm all he has and Abbie you have to understand, you're better than letting him keep you in shackles all these years." he finally pulls away, pulling his shirt down over his head. "You have people who love you, and you've moved on in more ways than you think. You're getting married, you should be happy, but instead you've got to spend all this time, flushing Crane out of your system. Putting everyone who cares about you through this hell because you've never let him go," he scrubs a hand across his face. "That man put a whole in my door after he ran into you. Asked me for a gun to blow his head off. You're not the only one who's been scarred by Ichabod Crane. You could be free if you chose to be, I'm not."

Abbie waits, listening to hear if perhaps they've woken Nick and Jenny. "Listen I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologize to me Abbie. Ichabod's my friend, damaged as he is, sometimes people come with baggage and you either love all of them with it, through it, or not at all. I'm not mad that he hit me, trust me I'm well equipped for tousling with Crane. But I just needed you to understand, you didn't…..miss out on anything wonderful. You lost something. Something valuable, precious and nothing can make that better, but I can't, I can't watch you be afraid of who you are anymore. You're afraid of your past, afraid of what people will think, what you feel, your own sense of self----I know it's hard and painful but those things make you, you. The light and dark the bitter and sweet. You don't build a brick wall with no doors. You build a house and retain the sense to lock it up and open it when you have willing and welcome visitors." he begins to pace across the room. "I mean, before he screwed up, you were yourself, weren't you?"

Abbie glares at him but answers dutifully. "Trusting and foolish, yes."

"But it was you. And for that period in time before he abandoned you, you were happy. With him."

"Your point?"

"Why have you let him, stop you from being who you are?"

"It's been a long night," Abbie says, moving toward the door. Abraham gapes at her, frustrated, but gathers his guitar all the same and strides silently out the door and down the front steps when he hears the door swing shut behind him and footsteps following. 

He turns. "What are you doing?"

"I need a drink. And I can't figure out those secret panels on my own for my life, lead the way,"


	37. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They head back to the 'secret' restaurant, have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter! sorry!

The host makes a show of checking his watch this time when they waltz in. Abbie can't imagine why seeing as the place is more busy than when they'd been there previously, teeming with life. There are even people dancing. A make shift band has taken the misfit instruments lying about and have agreed on a tune of sorts.They go to the stacks, once more, and Abraham orders tall mean, violet coloured beverages that burn on the way down and spread that heat through her limbs, like lighting a flare in her chest. She drinks it down though, because she's exhausted. And Abraham isn't going to get away with unloading all of that on her that easily. He's got a lot of nerve, she thinks, eying him across the table as he swirls his glass and takes one hearty swig after another, gazing over the balcony at the people below. Got a lot of nerve, after knowing her so briefly, to have so much say on who she is and how she handles her pain. A lot of gumption, to glance at her with his green eyes suddenly glinting and fierce instead of the kind gentle things they usually are, drumming his fingers on the table and working his mouth before he finally asks her what's on her mind. 

"Just that I still don't understand how we ended up here. Keep ending up here. We never just talk about the weather, do we? it's always all this, deep down, buried shit that keeps bubbling up."

"Yes well wounds don't heal over night." he snaps bitterly, taking another drink, frowning when he realizes the glass is empty. 

" I don't need you to tell me that I'm confused about myself, alright? I know that already. I'm just trying to sort out, how to fix that. Become myself again."

Abraham abruptly rises from the table and offers his hand. Abbie stares at it, and then back at him. "You won't ever manage that unless you're willing to embrace exactly what that entails. C'mon," 

Abbie hesitantly extends her hand towards him and he takes it, leading her down the steps to the main floor, among the other warm moving bodies and pulls her in, a respectable distance, and they sway too wildly, he twirls her again and again, and he stumbles because it's been a while since he's been tipsy and Abbie stops him from tumbling over and in an absurd moment looking at one another they burst out laughing. They laugh and dance, limbs limber and minds weary of the emotional taxation they tend to put the other through, but it's okay. It's okay for them to be messy and talk out their shared woes, it's alright. Abbie is always so contained, composed, and 'normal' and pretend, that it's welcome to be a little inebriated right now. 

So Abbie is feeling well truly reckless for the first time since------

******************  
February 2005

She chooses now, she chooses him----

******************  
July 2015

Her head spins and she pulls away too quickly, the room whirling around her as she goes before Abraham's hand catches her, pulls her in too fast, too close and the band has struck up a new song suddenly. A cover of a popular tune. A song the patrons here seem to know, a routine they seem to have all more or less perfected. 

"You wanna sit down?" Abraham asks, pausing when he takes in how close she is. How warm she is. War rages in Abbie's mind. 

She can't afford to be reckless, the last time she was reckless she was---

Yourself. A voice answers.

But then that thing happened and I would never be the same.

Yourself.

I shouldn't be here.

It's a dance. 

One more thing Luke doesn't know.

There's plenty you don't even know about---

Yourself.

Last time I was reckless----

what did he say tonight? 

Why have you let him, stop you from being who you are?

Who Am I?

"Abbie?" he calls again worriedly when Abbie grips his arms and leans her head on his chest. 

"The room is spinning," she grumbles irritably. "What was in that drink?"

"We can sit down, you know."

"Nope don't," she curses as her head pounds, it's best for her to keep still, right here. If he would just stand still. 

"If you're feeling sick we should get you some water and you should sit down," he continues, tipping her chin up. Abbie's eyes are scrunched tight, afraid that his face might be a mangled blur but finds instead the rooms snaps into focus once she opens her eyes and sees the concern in his. Her head settles down and she stabilizes, so quickly, so abruptly, she wonders if she imagined being dizzy to begin with. He seems determined at that moment, to drag her over to a chair anyway but Abbie stands strong, holding him in place, she carefully turns her head, taking in the other people dancing, their slow swaying broad movements, and her limbs follow in slow mimicry. Abraham starts to protest. 

"I'm okay," she says slowly, finding the rhythm, cocking her head to the song. "I feel better, come on, dance with me," her eyes train on her feet as they move and Abraham picks up her pace, he glances around too, following the steps the others have fallen into, they relax into the dance. Caught in a trance of the music. An arm drapes around his neck, another around her waist, sweeping loopy steps they take, with a turn and a stomp and step back in.

When, my, time comes around  
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth  
No grave, can hold my body down  
I'll crawl home to her

 

Closer this time on the step back in. They keep their eyes on each other. Abraham suddenly quirks his mouth and sighs. "It serves us right," he says suddenly. 

Abbie turns and asks over her shoulder as she stomps and rejoins him. "What?"

"Both of us filling voids with a man that's never been wholly himself,"

When, my, time comes around  
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth  
No grave, can hold my body down  
I'll crawl home to her

Abbie is silent when Abraham takes her in his arms again, mulling over his words. Curious but true. She's never thought of it until now.

They both have voids to fill. 

On the last refrain they are merely swaying in each other's arms. Perhaps there is something wrong with her dancing with a man that's not her fiance, here in this secret place. But this isn't Andy's kiss in the car, which had been interesting but glaringly wrong. Nothing like Orion the summer before, when she'd known he shouldn't be kissing her when she had only just begun seeing Luke. 

Those had come with some rather decided feelings that on some level, they didn't belong, shouldn't have happened, were wrong, in a way. 

But here with Abraham, the musing closing on a soft hum, swaying with her head on his chest and her breathing even, there's no treachery here. It doesn't feel wrong. 

And surely if she was betraying Luke this would feel wrong. 

When the song is over, everyone turns and claps for the band, a performance well executed. They stand still a moment, then both take a step back, look each other in the eyes, holding the other at arms length, and say in unison. "Thank you,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quoted is Work Song by Hozier


	38. Intersection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief flash back to what happened after Abbie left Orion stranded the night of the coffee house brawl. 
> 
> Abbie and Abe stumble back from the restaurant.
> 
> Chantal gets settled in to play for Minerva's funeral.

Orion Angel: July 2015

The night Abbie leaves him stranded after he assaulted Luke he runs his hands through his hair and dials his go to person, his emergency contact. She answers on the tenth ring, an annoying habit he knows she reserves only for him, "You're too use to having people at your beck on call," she'd told him once when he complained. Sometimes to spite him she'll wait till the twelfth or fifteenth, or otherwise not answer him at all. 

"Rybaby," she drawls and he cringes. She also likes to point out that she thinks he's spoiled, and can be unbecomingly pouty and whiny. A Crybaby. 

"Can you just give me a break tonight? I need to talk," 

"I'm in rehearsal Orion," she pauses. "I'll call you back in an hour?" 

"Yeah. Yeah. thanks."

Back at the hotel Orion kicks off his shoes, jumps in the shower and tries to figure out a way to turn this disaster with Abbie around. There must be some way he can get her to speak to him again. Get her to not look at him like an enemy. The look on her face before she left guts him. He's just come out the shower, drying himself off when his phone rings. 

"Alright," she says softly. "Talk to me."

"I screwed up Chantal. Big time." 

She groans. "It didn't make the news, did it?" she's already reaching for the remote and kicking off her heels. "Orion," she moans as she watches his fist connect with the unsuspecting victim. "You didn't do this. You didn't. What happened, I thought this was a scout night, not royal rumble," 

"I know, I know, just listen---"

"Wait a minute," Chantal leans forward as the footage replays, the person is moving too fast. Then a quick pan to the performance that had been happening before hand, and she knows that voice, that song that he's singing, and surprisingly she knows the voice of the woman joining him. Abraham. "Oh that's Abbie isn't it," she remarks on the woman in white, singing along with Abraham "and the man you hit. Lemme guess, that's her boyfriend isn't. Orion why do you do this. You realize you only ever seem to make things worse where she's concerned? Love shouldn't be so easy to screw up, and you're walking the most rickety bridge," 

"Chantal, please,"

"Oh what do you want from me, huh? Do you ever listen to my advice? Why do you even call me?"

"Cuz you put me in my place, happy?" he sighs. "I trust you and you're easy to talk to, and you, you set me straight, alright?"

"If you had any sense," she says slowly. "You'd try to get her to talk to you, alone, civilized, without throwing punches and----"

"telling her I love her----"

"----and telling her you---you what?"

"Told her how I felt, once and for all. Left me on the side of the road regardless."

"You really like to go all out, huh."

"You know me," and his voice sounds defeated. 

"Listen. Arrange to spend some time with her in neutral territory, and then talk it out, really talk it out, okay? Now listen it's late, and if I let you have your way you'll keep me up half the night and I don't have the time. I'll be down there for week two. Alright? think you can keep your act together until then?"

"Yes mother,"

"You wish your mother was as nice as me, Night Orion."

"Night Tally,"

He'd hung up and wondered, how, how could he possibly get Abbie to spend time with him ever again? And then it hit him. He'd need a security team. The idea was fool proof.   
************************  
The journey back up the dark steps is slower and more treacherous given the fact they've had a few. They go up slowly with their arms slung around each other, snickering if they miss a step before levelling out and advancing forward. Yet, for her small stature, Abbie is steadier on her feet than Abraham, and he over shoots a step, and just like that goes careening backwards taking Abbie with him as they turn and stumble back down. "Oh how can you be such a klutz!" Abbie exclaims as they whirl around, desperately trying to keep upright until he finally hits wall and she gets her bearing. 

"Sorry!" he chuckles, "There's a reason I'm not an athlete," 

"It shows!" she huffs, laughing as she looks up in the general area of where his head should be. "They should really have a guide in here,"

"And ruin all this good fun?" he asks and they crack up again. "Okay," he says, patting her back. "Alright, let's try this again," 

"No way, I'm going in the front. If you fall I can still manage to get away, hopefully,"

"You'd just let me tumble all the way down here by myself?"

"Give me a good reason why not!" she calls over her shoulder as she feels along the walls, one tentative foot in front of the other. 

"Show a woman a secret passageway once or twice, thinks she knows it like the back of her hand," he mutters as he follows behind, much more successfully than when he had been leading she doesn't hesitate to point out and at last they reach the top, bathed in the soft glow of the torch light. 

"Okay, you get the door now," she instructs.

"Bossy," he smiles and her eyes twinkle. He pauses a moment, transfixed. 

"What are you staring at Van Brunt, get the door," 

"Your eyes sparkle in torch light." he replies, shaking himself from his reverie. 

"My eyes sparkle?" she looks very amused at the idea. "Like what, stars? diamonds?"

"You're fishing," he jests as he pats the wall. 

Abbie snorts. "I'm just messing with you Abe, I'm not that vain,"

Abraham bangs a brick to the right and it shifts. "Ahh there we go," he starts side stepping out, offering his hand to Abbie as they emerge out onto the dark quiet main street. They saunter along until they are on Abbie's front step and he walks her up to the door. She looks up at him before she puts the key in the lock, her brow furrowed in thought. 

"I think I should talk to Crane," she says. "I--I think I need to."

"Abbie---"

"No, you said something tonight that makes a lot of sense. I can't begin to move on until I sort out my past with Crane. I have to go back for Minvera's--grandmother Morales funeral---- day after tomorrow so not before then but when I get back, yes. There's something unresolved between us. It needs to be dealt with" she nods once, determined, "Tell him I'm ready." 

Abraham beams down at her, "I'm proud of you," he says. "You don't need my approval and you're not trying to impress me, but, I'm really proud of you, to see you opening up and willing to confront him. If you'd like me there, to mediate, I guess, just let me know. We've known each other a short time but, well I think we've gotten kinda close, haven't we?"

"Yeah," Abbie concedes jovially. "Yeah we have. We've bonded." she reaches for his hand. "I appreciate the offer. But I think I need to do it on my own. What are you smiling at now?"

"I think I'm watching you, become Abbie Mills,"

She punches his arm. "You might be part of that. Helping me become more of who I am, a little of what I'm not," 

"I feel the same way," 

Abbie gives him a genuine smile before pulling him in for a hug. He hugs her back, just as tight. "You've really been there for me and you didn't have to,"

"I wanted to," he says and means it. Because his experience mentoring in university and being mentored and being a friend to Crane has grown within Abraham a love to care. Just because it feels good to do so. And if he's being honest, it's dangerously easy to care about Abbie. Too easy to have aspirations for her and to want more for her, the best for her, to wish and dream for her. 

Too easy to want to give her those things. 

As he releases her and calls back softly, "Like chocolate diamonds, if we're gonna be exact about it. Or like glittering pools in the moonlight. And stars too, on the clearest night"

Abbie shakes her head, confused. "Come again?"

He turns and waves, walking backwards down the street. "Your eyes." he smiles. "That's how I would describe your eyes," 

********************************

"Some might think it ill thought to court an engaged woman," Ichabod comments idly as he looks up from his scribbling. 

"I'm not courting Abbie. And you, I think you had an endeavour to make amends," 

Ichabod pauses mid sentence and glances at his friend. "I do still have that endeavour,"

"Well, it's your lucky night, she said to tell you she's ready."

His heart picks up speed and he gently sets his book and pen aside. "Ready?"

"To talk. She has a funeral to attend in two days, but that ought to give you time to get your words straight." Abraham gives him a tight encouraging smile. He nods to the journal. "Want me to look over that manuscript you've been writing the past few days or were you planning to write her an apologetic novel?" 

Ichabod gathers his things under his arm and harrumphs. "Good night, Abraham,"

"No badgering tonight Ichabod?"

"Remind me to be unkind to you in the morning if you miss it so much. For now, I'm going to bed. Sleep well Abraham,"

Abraham watches Crane go, retrieves his guitar from where he has it leaned by the front door and settles in on the couch. He takes it out, strums a few random bars, reflects on the night, on eyes like chocolate diamonds and glittering pools in the moonlight. On bravery and heart and the ringing laugh that teased him as they fumbled in the darkened stairwell. 

He feels inspired. 

He starts to hum. To sing.

He starts to write.

*********************************

Chantal drives pulls into the driveway of the motel Reverend Reyes recommended early in the morning, she has the full day and the one after before the funeral, which gives her time to practice. She never does a service cold. Likes to get a few solid hours in, familiarize herself with the organ she's playing. How many manuals its got and figuring out her registration. She checks in, stows her luggage and heads to the church to meet Leena. She greets her at the entrance, shows her around, tells her a little about what a wonderful member Minerva was of the community and the church, how much she'll be missed. Who'll be reading when etc, producing a program for her to mark up with reminders and notes so she can follow along during the service, and leads her into the sanctuary. Chantal breathes a sigh of relief, it's an organ like the one she plays in the city. three manuals, foot pedals, thirty seven pipes. It'll feel like home. Leena has just left her alone, and she's thumbing through the hymn book, finding the first selection she cracks her knuckles and launches into it, she does all the verses, humming along and keeping her pacing in check. She has a nervous tick of playing too fast, even now, so singing along always reminds her to reign herself in. At the end of it there's slow clapping and she turns around, surprised. 

"Hello," she greets warmly. "Were you looking for Reverend Reyes?"

The man shakes his head, his face is drawn and he looks so lost. Chantal frowns, rising from behind the organ and approaching him. "I'm Chantal Adams, I playing for Minerva Morales' Funeral," he shakes it solidly and then sits down in a pew. Chantal can't help it. She joins him. She has an intolerance for seeing people in pain. She likes to help, lives to help. "And you are?"

"She used to love that one, sang it when she dragged me to church as a kid." he nods and glances around the church as if remembering. "I just came in here to, you know, have a moment alone. They're having the viewing down the street and I needed some air," 

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Chantal says, patting his shoulder. "Who was she to you?"

"My grandmother. I'm Luke, Luke Morales," 

Chantal squints at him. Something about his face looks familiar but she can't quite put her finger on it. "There's something else bothering you though, isn't there,"

"What do you do when everything you thought you knew turns out to be false?"

She smiles kindly at him. "Decide if you can live with the truth,"


	39. Woke Up With A Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honest too goodness sibling tomfoolery and fluff. 
> 
> It's Abraham's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a detour! I'll get back to the main story this week. Promise!

An alien sound permeates Jenny's restful slumber. She stretches and leans up to peer at the clock over Nick's solid form lying next to her. Seven am. What the hell. She groans, swinging her legs out of the bed and Nick grumbles, limbs sleepily stretching for her as she detangles herself. "Don't go," he mutters. Jenny reaches over and tugs a lock of his hair playfully, his eyes wink open and he smiles at her before his face registers a look of bewilderment. 

"Do you hear something?" he asks. Jenny nods.

"It woke me up. I don't know maybe Abbie left the tv on or something." 

"Or we're in the middle of a break in" Nick adds helpfully, quickly shaking off the sleep, hauling a shirt over his head and jamming one leg after the other in his trousers before gestures for Jenny to follow behind him as they venture down the hall to discover what the racket it. What they see stops them in their tracks. 

Abbie is in the kitchen. In her sleep shirt and fuzzy slippers. She's said to hell with straightening her hair again today, it bounces around her head in curly free tendrils. She is making breakfast, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and tea. She's humming, no singing as she moves around the kitchen, at the top of her lungs. She is smiling to herself as she does so, dancing too, strange sweeping steps as if she has an invisible partner as she plates the food items and sweeps out to the dining room. Jenny and Nick exchange matching looks of shock before they smile widely at the picture of Abbie having a devil may care wonderful time singing in the kitchen. They could perhaps watch her there all morning because it's such a rare treat for her to be this uninhibited, and in fact they do for a second, Jenny dashes back into the bedroom stealthily to grab her phone and starts taping, the video hits the two minute mark before Abbie stops to call them for breakfast and then realizes she is being watched.

"Jenny!" she shrieks, feeling her face warm as she clears her throat and gestures vaguely to the table. "Breakfast. And you delete that right now!" 

"No way in hell, I'm rolling this during the reception," Jenny taunts before skidding out of reach as Abbie snatches for her. "Catch!" she calls, throwing the phone to Nick and Abbie lunges after him before he tosses it back to Jenny. 

"Jenny!" she yells again.

"Keep away!" Jenny laughs as her and Nick toss it back and forth, Abbie leaping up between them until Nick catches it and giving her the most spiteful wicked smile, drops it down his pants. 

Abbie cringes. "Oh no."

"Unless you want to get hands on with Hawley, I wouldn't suggest a deep dive in this pants. He didn't have time to put on drawers," 

Abbie shudders again at the image and admits defeat. "I'm so going to get you for that," she threatens as she takes a seat at the kitchen table. 

"It smells delicious Abbie," Hawley rubs his hands together as he takes his seat, hungrily digging into the pancakes. Jenny eyes her suspiciously. 

"You're very chipper this morning. What's got you in such a good mood?"

Abbie narrows her eyes at her sister before returning to the kitchen for syrup. "Last night was fun, it was good to sing and dance a little, helped me get out of my head for a bit."

Jenny and Nick exchange glances. "Dance?" Jenny queries and has the pleasure of watching Abbie's eyes widen in slow understanding. Had she let that slip? Honestly Mills? did you just----

"We didn't dance here at the house, did we Nick?" Jenny continues, watching Abbie squirm. Hawley quirks a brow. 

"Mattress mambo aside, nope, no dancing under this roof."

"When you guys went to bed I put on the radio, Abraham and I joked around a little bit, you know, showing off dance moves,"

Jenny proudly folds her arms. "I don't think so. I got up for a glass of water after Nick and I---whatever---and I heard the lock click on my way to the kitchen. So." she props her chin on her hands and leans forward. "Where did you go?"

"Who with?" Nick cuts in.

"And is that why you're in such a good mood this morning? Did you dance like that with them last night?" Jenny teases, standing up from the table and imitating Abbie's earlier movements. Abbie groans.

"Abraham and I decided to go a drink. That restaurant of yours is real, by the way Nick, and we…we danced. Okay? I Haven't been dancing in a while so," she shrugs nonchalantly, as if it's no big deal that after they'd gone to bed her and Abraham had gone dancing late at night. 

"Is that why you're singing and prancing around the kitchen? cooking a five star breakfast?"

"It's not five star," Abbie rolls her eyes in protest but Jenny is already asking her what kind of dance it was and everything about this conversation is wrong because it's not like Abbie went to prom the night before and she's sharing details about a magical night with her dreamy date. She went dancing with a friend and she's engaged! That should count for something! She shakes her head with barely concealed amusement however, because she IS in a good mood. She can't deny that. She went to bed smiling last night and woke up smiling this morning, had conceitedly looked at herself in the mirror and had agreed that yes, her eyes sparkled. And yes, her hair also looks amazing curly, and she was singing in the kitchen, and there's no use pretending she wasn't mimicking the steps from last night and snickering to herself when Abraham had tripped in the stair well and----"It was fun," she says at last with finality. "Next time we'll bring you, maybe," 

Hawley takes the hint but Jenny throws in one more jab. "So, are you gonna do that routine at the wedding? You'll have to show it to Nick and I later---hey!" she yelps as Abbie casually turns over the bottle of syrup in her hands and squirts it all over Jenny's shirt. Jenny grabs a pancake and whips it back at her. 

Nick pushes back from the table. "Uh oh, I know better, I'll just take this back to the bedroom," he begins, shuffling away plate in hand but he's barely two paces away before both sisters rub scrambled eggs in his hair. 

"MILLS!"  
***************************  
Ichabod pauses outside the bathroom where Abraham is humming inside while he brushes his teeth. He raises a brow when Abraham starts swaying, as if dancing. "Where exactly were you last night with Miss Mills?" he asks. 

Abraham chokes, spitting out toothpaste and rinsing his mouth. "Good morning Ichabod,"

"You know Abraham, this would all be a lot easier if we would just, level, with each other,"

"How do you mean?"

"You're developing feelings for Abbie,"

"Don't be ridiculous Ichabod," he digs around in the cabinet for the mouth wash. "I mean only a fool would let himself fall for a woman who's due to walk down the aisle, and I'm playing for the wedding, in case you've forgotten, the idea is……insane."

"So, nothing about me talking to her, unnerves you,"

"Except for a fear that you'll screw up? not at all. And you have some time to edit yourself anyway, so I'm not worried. She's engaged Ichabod. Even if in some dream world you two have an amicable discussion, it's not like she's going to break her engagement. She's finally found something settled in her life. You can't think she's going to abandon it for you,"

"I thought nothing of the sort." he replies frostily. "Only, well, I've never seen you dance during your morning ritual. Nor keep late hours if you weren't at a gig. It's unsettling. by the way, Happy Birthday. I have some particulars to sort out at SHU. But we'll celebrate tonight, yes?"

************************  
There's a fleeting moment of surprise when Abbie collides with Abraham outside of the bakery. 

"Hello stranger," she greets.

"Fancy meeting you here," he grins.

"Yeah well, wedding cake to pick."

Abraham frowns. "Alone?"

Abbie tousles her hair and shifts uncomfortably. "Luke's still with his family, they're having a rough time as it is, I'm not gonna interrupt his grieving process for confectionaries. What are you doing here?"

It is Abraham's turn to avoid her gaze and rock back on his heels. He coughs lightly. "I buy a cake every year, a small one, for our Birthday," He doesn't need to specify the use of the word 'our' Abbie already understands that he means Eddie, her first inkling of sadness settles in her stomach for the day, but it's not hers, the pain she feels at this moment is for Abraham holding this ritual for his twin. 

She regards him carefully. "Happy Birthday," she says quietly, a little apologetically, because she can't quite decide if this is a happy day or sad one for him. Or if it is always a bittersweet mix of both. His face softens and replies with an equally quiet 'thank you'. Then they both stare at the bakery door, suddenly stalled in hesitation. 

"Well," Abbie licks her lips. "Why, how about, well, help me pick a cake," she suggests. 

"I'm sorry?" he laughs.

Abbie gives him a light shove. "Help me pick the cake then. You just said yourself it's odd to pick a wedding cake alone. I'll need a secondary opinion and Jenny is tied up at the museum with Hawley today. Working on some collaboration with some artefacts and her curriculum for the fall. And you're kinda part of my wedding party, so, I think it makes perfect sense. Besides," she leans in and adds in a conspiratorial whisper, "We'll get to taste a bunch of different cakes. It'll be fun." she encourages, because the idea of Abraham purchasing a cake in memory of Eddie is unbearable to her. She doesn't want him to spend today contemplative and morose. Birthdays are for laughter and gratefulness for another year, gifts, cake, wishes and singing. 

He's been there for her so far. Abbie decides then, as she hooks her arm through his, pushing through the bakery door and the bell dinging overhead, that she wants to do that for him. Now she will be there for Abraham.


	40. Honey Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief character study of Chantal.
> 
> Abbie and Abe at the bakery. 
> 
> And distraction is a dreadful because you might miss something important. Unless you've forgotten you're missing something important. Cough cough, Abbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laying groundwork. 
> 
> Aren't I always laying groundwork though? lol.

The sanctuary is quiet, save for birds singing their early song. Chantal takes in the man seated next to her in the front pew, is sombre charcoal shirt and black tie, and dark trousers. The hollow circles beneath his eyes. She is unsure, as a stranger, how far she can press him to talk to her, but she knows he needs to talk it out. She can see that whatever troubles him, aside from obvious grief, is stripping away something inside of him too. She has never seen doubt embodied before, and this man is it. It's sad, because by the hard tick of his jaw, dark eyes and hunched posture---that looks incredibly painful by the way it's clear this isn't a man who slouches, he's one that's always been too sure of himself. Probably a little cocky. At any rate, she can tell by looking at him, Luke is not a man well acquainted with doubt, being unsure. It makes him fragile in a way, like a leaf torn from it's tree, skittering and floating lost, discarded, away in a cool wind. She inhales and steels herself for what might happen next. 

Chantal is one of those people who absorbs. She sucks up the pain and woes of people around her, draws them out of their darkness best she can, smiles and laughs and gives freely, if they would accept it. But she doesn't let herself flow so freely. She's open, to be sure and she is possessed of a hyper awareness of herself, but she knows the world around her. 

Chantal loves to love. If she was given the chance she'd fold every person she crossed with their ails in her arms and hold their hands down the street. She is not afraid of broken hearts and painful memories, she wants those, more than anything. She's just always been dying for someone daring enough to face that with her. She craves to find people, who like to be as deeply connected and invested as she has the potential to be. She wants long standing tight knit friendships and seamless loves. But, people regard her as strange, sometimes too, because Chantal doesn't muddle affection with deeper meanings. She thinks people ought to be affectionate and caring, just because. She thinks it is unfair, that if she wants to hold a mans hand that it comes burdened with the subtext of interest and attraction. That if she wants to kiss someone's brow, that it intimates something about her relationship to them. In many ways, perhaps she is too innocent. Even at her age, perhaps it is foolish to think one could care so openly and freely without being attached, without it having meaning. She sees no reason why intimacy cannot be a casual sport, and not always a sexual one. So she fosters that with people she meets, in her way. Gives them as much as she can, because she can. She doesn't ask for it back, it ruins the purity of the gesture that way, and Chantal is a woman of pure intent. Be good to others because why on earth would you bother being anything else? 

But that doesn't stop her from hoping. 

She's probably a romantic too, when you think about it. That might be the larger problem. 

But at any rate Chantal has always lived for people who open up to her, she is like a bee drawn to flowers, helping them pollinate and grow. Abraham used to call it her Honey Bee tendencies, the way she craved to be a shoulder to lean on, the ear for sorrows. She is schooled in it now, after her years mentoring and being Abrahams friend, Orions, reaching in deep and pulling out emotions from her singers and performers in her choirs and shows. Chantal lives for mining the depths of people. She is confident she can strike gold in every human being. If they'd allow her access to their cavernous insides with her lantern and pick, she can find it. 

So Chantal is used to listening, and glad to, she prepares herself to flush out all other thoughts and focus on what Luke will say when she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

When he looks at her gratefully, Chantal heaves a sigh of relief.

"Go on," she says. "I'm all ears."  
**************************************  
Abraham wrinkles his nose at the poppyseed and moans obscenely on the red velvet. Abbie watches him, chuckling as he groans or wretches alternatively with each bite, they've tried six of them before he declares undying love and pledges allegiance to a white chocolate and raspberry cake with fluffy decadent frosting and Abbie finds she has to agree. However, "Try this one," she sticks her fork into a light pink cake and without even thinking aims towards Abrahams mouth. He opens up obediently, letting her feed it to him and his eyes snap open.

"What….what…..is there….there's something….."

"Bubbly?" Abbie suggests with a knowing smile. 

"Very, bubbly, is that champagne?"

"It's a pink champagne cake! It's good, isn't it? and we---I---can get it with rum custard" 

"But….white chocolate," he insists with a mock pout. "wait, rum custard?" 

The baker, Gertrude, looks on warmly at the couple who is joking and teasing and feeding each other samples of the cakes. "How long have you known each other?" she asks.

"Oh, just a couple of days," Abbie replied offhandedly as Abraham dabs icing off the corner of her mouth.

Gertrude gazes on them in a state of open mouthed shock. A few days? she worries. Did she just say they've only known each other a few days? and getting Married? She's met people who take to the aisle after a month or two, but mere days? And yet, she can't quite remember the last time she'd seen a pair so sweet together, practically glowing and beaming. She'd wager she could prepare them a mud cake and they would still declare it sinfully delicious for the mere fact they were eating it together. 

"What do you think?" Abbie asks.

"If I had my way I'd do every layer a different flavour," he responds. 

"I like your sense of whimsy," 

"I'm very proud of my sense of whimsy."

Gertrude rolls her eyes. They could go on like this, she's sure but she hopes they'll make up their minds sooner than later. 

"Luke isn't a champagne type, not really," 

"But rum custard,"

Abbie groans, "I know, but, maybe I'd better stick with a marble or something,"

Abraham throws his head back. "You're killing me,"

"It's his cake too," she reminds him playfully and now Gertrude is thoroughly confused. Who cares what anyone wants for the cake aside from bride and groom? it's their day! 

"Oh I have fussy in laws and siblings too, but don't pander to them, you pick the wedding you and your husband to be will enjoy," she adds helpfully. Abbie and Abraham both freeze then, realization dawning in their eyes as they stare at one another, deciding perhaps whether to make an awkward exit, to be truthful or roll with it. A wicked smile flits between them as Abraham answers.

"Oh I've told her Gertrude,"

"Gertie," she corrects kindly. 

"Gertie," Abraham intones confidentially, "But my Honey Bee here just lives to make people happy. Fatal flaw, but I've told her," and he's really putting on now as he reaches across the table for her hands and Abbie looks back at him with faux adoration, "I've said to her, darling, nothing else in the whole world will matter that day but you and I, and we ought to dedicate each decision to making it the most remarkable, beautiful celebration of our love imaginable, on our terms." His eyes never leave Abbie's during this little spiel, and to finish it off, he lifts her hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to each set of knuckles. It takes Gertie making a sort of whimpering swoon sound before Abbie breaks away from his gaze and slowly, shyly, pulls her hands from his. 

"That's my Abe for you, silver tongued as they come," she muses, observing how his eyes dance with amusement, barely containing his own laughter at this ruse. "It's because he sings, you know. Can't tell you how many women I have to fend off,"

"Oh but Gertie I can't tell you how many men I've got to keep away from her!" he interrupts, leaping from the table, grabbing her hand twirling her around. "I mean, look at her, isn't she gorgeous?"

Gertie is beside herself fawning over these two now and thoroughly distracted. "I can't stand it," she twitters. "Listen, I have cupcakes in the flavours you've tried today, take home a box and come back and decide when you two kids can stop flirting with one another," she laughs merrily as she heads behind the counter. 

There's a brief moment where they both consider feeling guilty for fooling Gertie, but they were just having a bit of fun, it's harmless really, Abbie shrugs as she follows Gertie to the counter, takes the box and to assuage both of their consciouses, buys a dozen red velvet ones. They're Jenny's favourite therefore Nick's favourite too. Keeping in character they happily take the box from Gertie as walks them to the door, his arm hooked around Abbie's waist and her head leaning on him as they cheerily call their partings to the baker.

Outside, two store fronts down from the bakery Abbie cracks their facade. "Well that's going to be interesting when she shows up on the day and sees Luke." she deadpans before she collapses on the wall laughing. "Oh that was awful. That was an awful thing to do,"

"I agree you should be ashamed of yourself. Saying all those disgusting things about how handsome I am and my silver tongue,"

"Whoa buddy I never said anything about you being handsome," she protests half heartedly. "And what about you? that speech and the nick name, Honey Bee? really? and kissing my hands? Boy you know how to lay it on thick," she emphasizes.

Abraham cuts his eye at her. "You liked it," he taunts.

"Eww. Did not."

"Eww!" Abraham barks, brows shooting up to is hairline. "Do I have cooties?"

"The most repulsive strain of cooties that has ever existed," she explains logically, eyes shimmering in the sun.

There it is again, Abraham thinks as he watches her, eyes like amber and falls into step next to him as they continue to stroll down the street. 

"Side note," Abbie begins, "If you ever decide switch artistic veins, I think you have a career in acting," 

They keep laughing as they walk by the pawn shop, and if they'd only bothered to look up, they'd have seen the owner polishing and displaying his latest acquisition, a beautiful engagement ring, glittering under the shop lights, with an endearment engraved on the band, two halves made whole, Abbie Mills, Luke Morales. 

*************************  
Ichabod pauses outside of the bank, taking deep reassuring breaths. He pats his coat, hears the crinkle of paper there before he squares his shoulders and pushes on the door.


	41. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because that is exactly what this is.
> 
> Some Nick backstory! 
> 
> Examination of Nick and Jenny over the years.
> 
> And anyone else curious what Katrina did while she was living on her own before she got sick again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Promise promise promise every single last bit of this is relevant, I swear it! 
> 
> Also, an IMMENSE thank you for the supportive comments I have received from you all! I know this story is long, and sprawling, and it means so much to me those of you who have stuck with me on this and continue to encourage me. I hope as I keep writing I continue to be worthy of your readership! <3

Nick Hawley: October 2012

They argued before he left.

He's just gotten off his flight, he's investigating some grave they dug up for King George in England. He's just one of many, of course. Hawley enjoys art and history just as much as Jenny, though he's always been loath to admit it. And truth be told, like adventure and the journeys he goes on to retrieve the oddball things he does. 

He met Jenny in 2005, in India. She was working a fabric stall, he was buying the beautiful woven rugs. He'd come by three days in a row before she'd said to him, "You can't possibly need this many rugs,"

He'd given her a lopsided grin, "Come over to my place later and show me what else it needs then,"

She'd smirked at him, her curling hairs slicked down to her face from the heat and nodded at the stall across the street. "Sabine won't like it," He'd nearly laughed at that. He'd been seeing Sabine, the woman who made jewelry since he'd arrived nearly a month ago, and yes, Sabine was the sort that would take issue if she knew he was picking up another woman, in her market no less, but he had merely shrugged. Jenny had cocked a brow at him. 

"Wasn't planning on telling Sabine," he whispered. "Sir Nicholas Hawley,"

"Sir, huh?" she checked over her shoulder. "Arman won't really like it either, if I come home with you," Arman ran the shop, and Jenny had hooked up with him since she'd gotten into the town a month before Nick had arrived. 

"We both know you sure as hell wasn't planning on telling Arman, either,"

Jenny had made a tsking noise before shooing him away from her wares, snapping the kerchief she kept on hand to mop her sweat at him as he went. He sauntered back around at closing hours. A glance had been all it took, before Jenny slinked out beside him. They'd had dates and tea sitting on a wall while the night sky rolled in. 

They spent time together like this thrice before they went to bed. And it wasn't until afterwards, sweat slick and the taste of the other in their mouths did it consciously occur to Nick that he hadn't learned her name. He ran his fingers absently along her side and she hummed while he did, a lullaby mama used to sing to her and Abbie, a ritual she maintain every night. 

A superficial gesture, to think that humming this one lone tune in anyway bridged the miles to her sister. But she did it nonetheless, it comforted her. 

"Where's that from?" he rumbled, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. 

"Lullaby my mama used to sing to my sister and I," she replied, back still to him, she doesn't know why, that's when she decides to give him her name. "Jennifer, but call me Jenny," 

And he never did call her anything but Jenny for the years to come in what must have been the longest running open relationship in history. Originally, Nick never had any intention of returning to Sleepy Hollow that fall with her, but he'd started to like her enough that he didn't want to take chances on the hope that he'd cross her again in his travels, weeks, months, years to come. He'd invited himself to come back with her, and she hadn't been fussed by it. However, just because he was always at the house with her and Abbie did not make them mutually exclusive. 

Jenny had been rather vehement that they see other people. Be it the change she had noticed in Abbie upon her return, or her own deep rooted commitment issues, but Jenny seemed bent on the notion that if Abbie was unable to find lasting commitment and stability, she wouldn't seek it either. And, admittedly, in the beginning, It had seemed a sweet deal to him at the time, given the way they lived. 

"I've seen how you are with women," she'd grinned impishly. "And you know how I am with men," 

Jenny still travelled, though not as frequently, and scavenging far and wide was in Nick's blood, which she didn't mind, and sometimes even though they had roamed together there were times when it wasn't one another they took to bed. Never an ill thought come morning. Never any unkind words. They'd traded stories more times than he liked to admit, and another man would have been glad to declare it a friends with benefits situation. But it just wasn't that with Jenny, there was something more there, he never developed relationships with the other women he'd met, never anything more than clumsy romancing if he was feeling lonely. Didn't ask about their families or form bonds with their siblings, certainly hadn't been damning well sneakily setting up shop in their house the way he had been with Jenny for years. No, Jenny was home, no matter which way they strayed. 

So the fact that she had argued with him when he'd declared himself companionless on his last excursion had taken him aback. She'd accused him, of all things, of trying to "trap her in monogamy' and 'monopolize her time'.

He'd called her crazy, of course. Abbie was out on the beat at the time so he'd given himself leeway enough to yell. " You out your damn mind Mills? You're the first woman, the only woman I've met that would be mad her man isn't screwing around,"

"Well I feel like a bitch if I'm here, doing my thing, and you're out there being all cavalier and faithful. Like I'm the philandering one,"

"Oh I know you like screwing Joe Corbin on the reg Jenny I'm not trying to mess with that and I'm not trying to screw your freedom. I'm just saying it ain't always in me to pretend I don't want more so you don't feel like you're abandoning Abbie---you don't even know what her issue is, but somehow you figured running us through the gauntlet will solve it," 

"Joe Corbin---"

"Joe Corbin is up in that damn bed whenever I'm not here and don't damn well tell me no. And I know it's not a relationship Jenny, I know that. I know you're not cheating on me with him. But you're just plain cheating me Jenny. You're cheating me and you're not being fair."

Jenny had opened her mouth to retort, to tell him, yes, she has been holding herself back from him because no matter how many relationships Abbie gets into, they never seem to be quite what she needs, that she knows something happened in her absent years and Jenny is obligated to stand by her now, even if that means sabotaging what could be a good thing. Or failing to let go of what might have been a horrible thing from the get go. But who likes to have so many wholes poked in their theories all at once and then demanded to defend them? certainly not Jenny Mills. So she didn't say the truth of anything. Because that would mean him taking her in his arms and them continuing this 'more conversation' and she wasn't up to that. 

Would never feel up to the idea of contemplating utter complete and permanent happiness until Abbie had found the same. 

"We'll talk when you get back,"

He'd cursed and closed the door.

So there he was, peering into the cavernous depths of the site among reporters and experts nattering away about the skeletons and the history of this long forgotten monarch when his phone goes off. Annoyed, he marches away from the site to take a call. Hawley's developed an impressive wealth of contacts world wide, but this voice, he doesn't know. When he asks how did she get his number she refuses to say, just gives him an address. He's intrigued, gets a little excited about the notion of a cloak and dagger set up, so he sets off for the address.   
**************************************  
Katrina Crane: October 2012

She's been living in this flat on the other side of town since she left Ichabod back in July. Her mind has been made up since about, september, that she's not going back. She's absolutely had it with the stormy tumult of the past seven years. Whatever she thought Ichabod gave her she'd found in herself during the battle for her life. Whatever she believed she could give him, she'd been proven disastrously wrong, time and time again. Illness had made Katrina formidable, given her the fire she needed to burn the bridge of her marriage to the ground. 

Her father had passed during a factory incident, four years prior. Her mother has been on steady decline ever since, her mind was never right after Mr. Van Tassle passed. There was a settlement, and her mother had started renovating and expanding their old family home. Her sisters had helped for as long as they could before other pursuits summoned them away. With her mother's health failing, and few to attend her, she went to a home, some place that could care for her better. But the house had remained, abandoned now, but still their property, still in the family name. Her mother was declared mentally unfit shortly before Katrina first became ill, and everything had been signed over to her name. There'd been no argument on her sisters part, no animosity, they'd wanted nothing to do with the rambling, crumbling, monstrosity that there mother had begun to forge. 

Some fragile hope of creating a new home after her husband passed. Maybe dreaming that it would be a retreat of sorts for her children, a merry place that the daughters would return too, with grand children and friends and spouses and have family vacations and reunions like they'd never been able to afford before. An enticement perhaps too, because her mother was incredibly lonely. She'd been to the property since moving out of the house with Ichabod.

Her old childhood home now a half finished mangled mess. Walls torn down never to be rebuilt, floors ripped up. The basic frame was still there, still the home she had grown in and loved, but the extra rooms hadn't been given the love and care needed for them to complete the whole. And certain elements of the original needed dire repair. She doesn't understand now why her and her sisters never stepped in to stop their mother from blowing all of that money on starting these renovations, and then most likely she had over paid the contractors. After she had divided the money among them for savings---her share being what she lived off of now, and dwindling, there wasn't enough to finish the job. 

But at last, after all of these years, new leash on life and feeling free of the love she had bound herself up in---Katrina thinks she might try to finish it. She doesn't have money, unfortunately, not nearly enough, but she suspects if she sold a few things---she toys with the wedding ring and band around her finger----and winces at the memory of the gun still buried at the bottom of her suit case, that she might have enough to put in an aggressive mutual fund, and in time, might have enough money to decently start fixing the house proper. Not for herself, no. 

Katrina holds folly notions of a curly haired child running through the halls and her clapping her hands with glee, and maybe, perhaps even Ichabod is there, she hasn't quite figured out why he would be, but for all their trials she still loves him, she can't not, but she imagines him there too and----she shakes her head. Someone had told her about Sir Hawley. How he knew all about antiques and art and would certainly know someone who would pay a more fair price for what she could sell than the pawnbroker. 

Katrina wasn't expecting for him to be roguishly handsome, and there's a similarly delighted expression on his face when he sees her. "Hawley," he introduces himself.

"Kat," she smiles. Because she has heard her full name bellowed with too much rage and ricocheting off the walls. 'Katrina' will never sound like anything less than a roar to her ever again. Kat is simple and short. It can't resonate that way, no matter how angry one may be. 

Katrina has never known another man.

Nick is still furious with Jenny nearly two days after their fall out he is still angry at her accusations and if she wants him to sleep around he won't disappoint her. 

It's clumsy. She invites him in, pours him some tea and before Nick can utterly betray himself by making the first move Katrina kindly suggests he follow her to the bedroom, where she can show him what she asked him there for----And she's not lying, the rings are on her dresser, the gun in the suitcase ---It's a transparent ploy, almost sad how cheesy it is really but Nick nods, business like, before he follows her inside. 

It is strange to kiss a new pair of lips after knowing an old set so thoroughly. To feel these new hands gliding over her body and this new man inside of her, in the thick of it she starts to cry and Nick slows his pace, ready to abandon it all together but she grips his hand and begs him don't stop, please, I need this, please. So on he goes, slowly, tenderly, his heart softening for her. He is more tender and careful with her than he has ever been on any of his other many forays, because he senses her need for someone to be gentle, to take time with her and give her comfort. He is an escape for her just as she is for him. He kisses her hair, folding her in his arms when done, and she lies there, blinking at the ceiling, tears long since dried on her face. She murmurs her thanks and with afternoon sun streaming in through the window, they drift to sleep.

Back home, folded up next to Joe in bed, Jenny decides this won't happen again. 

 

***************************  
Ichabod Crane: July 2012

He notices mere moments after Katrina leaves him, that his wedding band is missing. For a second he's impressed that she could be so light fingered. Then he sits there contemplating the finality of what the absence of the jewellery means. 

***************************  
October 2012

They discuss the deal while still in bed. She wakes up renewed, refreshed, pecks him on the nose and launches into her idea without preamble. 

She's got the matching set of her rings and her husbands, what happened? Nicks asks,

"No questions" she replies. She gets up from the bed, naked as the day she was born and produces the gun, laying it down on the dresser before him. "I don't care how you do it, who you take them to, I don't want any papers or a trail, just get me the money and I'll take it from there, alright? You can keep ten percent for yourself, can't afford more than that." She starts hunting around for her undies, clearyly invigorated and Nick sits there dumbly still in his birthday suit under the covers. 

He replays the sadness this woman had not long before, how fragile she had been during their coupling, and how he had thought of Jenny. Could only think that; I don't want this, I don't want what this woman has, this loneliness, this rejected heart, this desperate need to be touched lovingly, I don't want this. I want more, I need more, and I won't settle---

"What are you still doing here?" Katrina cuts into his thoughts, though she's smiling at him. "Get dressed. Do you want a tart before you go? When will I hear from you, for the money?"

Nick starts stuffing himself in his pants and pulling on his shirt. "This isn't my usual fare," he warns, Believe it or not, as much trading as he does, something about this, especially the gun part, makes him uneasy, but, he does have the contacts, as it were, and seeing how lifted her spirits are, he won't refuse. "Shouldn't be more than a week. After that I'll bring them back to you," he promises. 

At the door he hugs her, friendly like, but she drags him back to kiss him on the mouth, before tousling his hair and whispering a "thank you" before closing the door. 

In a word, he's mystified. 

He found a buyer the next day, and promptly collected the money and returned to Katrina's flat. He worries for a moment that history will repeat itself, and there will be that gut wrenching episode in the bed, but she merely counts the money, throws her arms around him, kissing his face repeatedly, and yes, invites him for tea, and she has scones today and he joins her and she tells him what she wants the money for.

Just the house repair part.

Not the other bit.

That part is for Ichabod alone to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting to that Ichabod bit.
> 
> Trust in me! I have this laid out, I swear!


	42. How Green Does Your Garden Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kat pov.
> 
> More Nick Jen and Joe.
> 
> thoughtful Ichabod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod's thoughts are a jumble.

Katrina Crane: October 2012

Katrina counts the money, four thousand dollars. Impressive, she thinks, given that the rings were worn and she wasn't all that convinced that the gun was worth much, but she had told Hawley she didn't want details, and so she'd better not trouble herself with being curious now. 

For his part, Hawley's buyer was coming off a very generous deal and has had a good working relationship with Hawley for years, in hindsight, he over paid him, but it was a small concession to make. The gun would go through many hands over the next three years, travel a surprising distance before landing in the Sleepy Hollow Precinct weapons dispensary and then holstered on the hip of Luke Morales. 

The rings would be melted down, turned over to an up and coming jeweller who enjoyed crafting new from old, would turn the rings of a troubled marriage into a set made for a new one. 

The rings Katrina sold would become a new set, sitting in a pawn shop in Sleepy Hollow, with an engraved endearment etched on the band, after being lost in a heated collision and found by dishonest Ed the cabi/tradesman. In December 2014, Abbie would be wearing traces of the rings that were once Ichabod's, building her agreement of marriage to Luke, on the tattered remnants of Ichabod's and Katrina's union. 

Katrina knows none of this. Only that the money in her hands is enough to bank, and in a few years time, she'll have enough to finish the renovation on the old Van Tassle home, and she'll invite them both back, and maybe there, on that new ground, they can all make up for lost time and be better to each other than they had been. 

All four of them. Maybe five, if by some luck Abbie had had twins. 

November 2012

She'd refused to believe it, even though the fact that she was passed out on her kitchen floor was evidence enough that something was wrong. But I beat this, she'd thought as she rose, what she kept repeating even when after she'd returned to the doctor, even when Ichabod came to visit. Denial had been her strongest weapon.

January 2013

It had seemed a cruel thing, that after finally finding the courage to leave him, she was fated to be in his care through her final days. She started to come to grips with the reality that her dreams, the impossible silly things, wouldn't come true, not in her lifetime, not for her eyes to see. But the desire of her heart had already begun, it was there, growing, biding it's time, and the house was still there and she'd drawn up paperwork, some time ago actually, before the sickness had come upon her once more with a vengeance. When he wasn't coddling her, she strained herself to write. To tell him her final wishes for them both. 

And her.

She has spent her marriage feeling she has wronged her. 

*******************  
October 2012

Don't ask Jenny how she started sleeping with Joe in the first place. Don't ask her why him and how come he somehow worked himself into rotation of, Nick away, Joe comes to stay. 

She doesn't have feelings for Joe. Not like that. He's a sweet guy and a musician and thus by nature a wanderer too. Perhaps that was the draw, unlike Abbie, who is wary of men who stray, Jenny likes a man who roams. A man who ventures and may or may not be back. Gives her space to breathe, frankly, time with Abbie too, if she's having an off period. 

Truth be told Jenny hadn't slept with Joe for nearly a year before she'd picked that ridiculous fight with Nick. She'd barely managed an amateur tryst in the bar of a bathroom, and one other barely memorable encounter in a motel room. She'd been spending the free time with her sister, on her books, on art. Maybe, a small part of her, no matter how she'd tried to wring its neck, a part of her had started craving a bit 'more' too. Finding out Nick might be on the same page had spooked her, to be honest. 

What the hell do you do with two people who have never been exclusive, for going on nearly seven years, who suddenly might want to commit? How can that possibly ever work? Isn't someone's eye destined to stray? Aren't they bound, for one of them to always continue craving the former freedom that they'd once had? 

Jenny's never been jealous and it was easier to keep those ridiculous future fears concerning her relationship with Nick at bay so long as he kept being the dirty dog she'd trained him to be, a firm reminder that it could never work, that she wasn't ready to make it work. After all, what does 'more' mean? 

Marriage?

Children?

Moving away?

From this house, their mama's house, the one that she'd left Abbie alone if for all that time----nope.

She'd called him two days after Nick had left. Angry at herself. Cursing herself for irrationality of it, and missing Nick too. That had probably angered even more, that she was thinking about him and wanting his arms around her and she picked up the phone and dialled Joe. The background was noisy from whatever gig he was on, but he'd said "Jen?"

Because Jenny wasn't quite short enough.

"Joe,"

Or maybe because he liked to say 'Jen and Joe' in his head, thought it had a nice ring to it. 

She hated herself for the small sounding voice that came from her when she asked, "You got plans tonight?"

Joe wasn't a foolish man. Jenny was a friend, had been for a while, damn great girl. Had been shocked quite frankly the first time, he'll always remember that first when Nick had gone on one of his expeditions and him and Jenny went out drinking and got too damn drunk, more drunk than he'd ever been during his university years or even when he played the underground joint with Abraham during their Masters in performance. Abraham could drink a man under a table back then, too. 

But they'd been far too inebriated, and they'd staggered through the streets before Jenny had tugged him down an alley and pressed her mouth to his. It started that night, guess cause she trusted him. And he trusted her too. It was an okay agreement, but he was always watching Hawley when was back, and he could see the change coming over Hawley and kept wondering why Jenny refused to see it too. He figured when the calls stopped coming months ago, that maybe she'd taken the hint. He'd been wrong

"Hawley's in love with you," he'd retorted.

Jenny kissed her teeth, suddenly irritated. "I said, you got plans tonight?"

"And I said, Hawley's in love with you and you need to stop using me to push the guy away,"

"Look you gonna come over here and show me a good time or what Corbin?"

He sighs. "Aren't you gonna ask me nice at least?"

She met him at his apartment, he'd been all geared up to sit her down and have an honest heart to heart with her, tell her he's not going to be part of the game anymore but Jenny is misleadingly strong, overpowered him the minute she came through the door, undressed before they hit the bed because Jenny had planned ahead, t-shirt, sweats, skipped the undergarments, and she knows his weaknesses by now and Joe caved. Afterwards he'll be annoyed with himself for being so easily conned, in his own place, seduced into his own bed, and he opens his mouth to tell her never again, that was it, last straw, you need to sort out your relationship with Nick, when Jenny beat him to the punch. 

He'd almost missed it she'd been so quiet. "That's it," she'd said. That was all.

Nick came back earlier than he ever had, his encounter with Katrina had shaken him up, he was on a plane the very night that he'd given her the money, urgently headed home. When he crossed the threshold Jenny and Abbie were in the kitchen baking cookies and suddenly Jenny was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and he dropped his bags to hold her there. Abbie made cooing noises and Jenny told her to F*ck off as she squeezed him tighter. 

"More," she'd whispered in his ear, pressing her lips to his neck. "I slept with Joe while you were gone and I don't want that,"

"I slept with a woman while I was gone and I don't want that," he'd replied. 

Abbie announced she was going out for some air, bless her, and loudly closed the door behind her when she left. Slowly Jenny had slid down his body, but kept her arms around him. "I want more, I don't know what that is considering you damn well live here already and we've been together for how many years?"

"Not long enough," he replies smoothly and Jenny smirks at him. "Let's just cut out the extras alright? Give us an honest to goodness wholesome shot. Let's see what we're capable of" He kissed her then, small kisses chasing after the other, smiling against her lips as he backed her down the hall and she tripped----he was far too proud of that---and kept whispering 'more' as he took off his shirt and pulled her down on the bed. "All I want is a chance to show you how much more, I can give you. I love you, Jennifer Mills,"

"I love you, Sir Nicholas Hawley," she chuckled as she leaned back on the bed, admitting defeat at last. She's not about to run off with him into the sunset, but she's not going to push him away anymore and cheat them both out of finding out if there's potential for a great thing between them. It goes without saying, that marriage isn't happening until Jenny thinks Abbie has really truly healed from whatever wound that is still gaping, and that's not fair, she knows.

But Hawley never asked for fair, just more. And this is all the 'more' she can give, for now.   
*****************************  
July 2015

He has been visiting the steps on which he met Abbie, every spare chance he gets. Sitting there, and taking in his view of the campus, recalling that very first moment when he collided with Miss Mills for the first time, and how he was forever changed because of it. He wrote his letter to Abbie, finished it, honestly days ago. He's been writing to himself these past few days, reflecting on the man he is and wants to become, if he can ever be worthy of his own aspirations. To do that, he grudges the truth of it, to do that, he must face the past, face the ruins he's left behind before he can ever consider building anew. He went hunting for Katrina's last letter last night, while Abraham had been out dancing with Miss Mills…….

Ichabod is unsure of his heart. His feelings for Abbie never vanished but they have morphed over the years, they went from love to a horrible reminder of the beast he was and back to guilt that tortured him and now they return to this regret, and once more a sorrowful longing for the beautiful thing they had, and could have still, had he been brave enough to face it. He has wondered if he'd stayed, never asked Katrina to marry him and resolved to stay by Abbie's side instead, what their life would have been like. 

A boy? tall and gangly like him? with his straight nose and her full mouth and warm eyes? A girl, with curling hair, small of stature, but a know it all, as well?

Would they secretly carry inside of them an unruly tempest of anger?

Was that something he would have been destined to pass on?

Would he have visited upon his children the same pressures and antagonizing that his father had shown him? 

Perhaps monsters begat monsters. 

He won't call it a favour of any sort, Abbie's---his----their loss. But he suspects he was unfit, and even now is still in many ways totally unfit for a reconciliation with Abbie, and yet…..he knows he must try. He must try again, at least just this one, this final time, to be true with her, more true than he has ever been. 

It gives him anxiety, he's held onto Abbie for so long, and she him.

They have both waged war within themselves, on their hearts and those around them, captured eternally by the consuming nature of the bond they once had. 

A bond that they had nurtured so lovingly and with such affection, before Ichabod had torn the sun from the sky, sucked from the clouds all their rain, churned the earth and sprinkled it with dead things so no good, pure, beautiful thing would dare grow. He had set loose locusts and vermin and drought on the fertile soil on which their relationship had grown. 

He sits on the steps again now, having just come from the bank. His coat is making a constant infernal racket of rustling envelopes, and papers. He blinks back tears as he looks off into the distance.

The words from Katrina's letter fills him over and over again to the brim. He had bathed himself in tears last night before Abraham had come in. Had awoken to a soaked pillow before hearing his best friend humming in the bathroom. During his marriage to Katrina, he had begun his own project that he hadn't told her about, a portion of his paycheque that had steadily been disappearing and she'd never questioned it----Katrina had been a keeper of the peace until her breaking point had been reached----had found those statements among his old journals, charting the life of the child he had believed survived. 

In the end, for all his secrets, for all his sureties that Katrina could never understand, he had failed to recognize the sameness in them. They were both plotters. And now he has not one but two situations to deal with along with his impending sit down with Miss Mills. 

But bless her, even enduring Ichabod's many plagues for all those years. 

Katrina had still found a way, even in her death, to till the soil.


	43. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opens with Chantal's advice to Luke.
> 
> Abbie and Abraham moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Ichabod are going to have their second collision in the upcoming chapters.

"If you love her, you love it all, you take all of it, the good the bad and the unknown, you show her that you're in it, completely. That you'll do whatever it takes to show her you care for her, that you're there for her. I know you're grieving right now, but she needs you to stand by her more than ever, she told you about things that she had kept secret for a reason. You asked her to open up and she did, took the risk of being vulnerable and you have to honour that, you have to respect that. You have to make the choice, that if you're going to love her, the way she needs, you'll have to make sacrifices and put yourself on the line too." when she finishes, she looks down at the worn carpet of the sanctuary and becomes rather intrigued by the woodgrain pattern on the pew. Luke lets Chantal's advice soak in before he rises, straightening his collar and shakes her hand one more time in thanks. 

"Thank you, for listening to me, a complete stranger,"

"Not so strange anymore," Chantal smiles. "You're welcome."  
*********************

They're at his music studio space. It is not exactly the same as when they had visited last. It smells like fresh paint, a mint green on the walls out front, and within the lesson room, a piano where there hadn't been previously. There are music stands in here too, now, and shelving. Abbie clucks her tongue when she walks in. A damn shame if he wins that show and goes on tour, abandoning this place, this perfect learning space.

They are two cupcakes in each when Abraham dusts off his hands and moves toward the piano.

"I haven't played this in years," he says, as he runs his fingers along the keys. "Every year I've spent my birthday the same way, never going back to that place. Like you, in some ways. But today, I'll try something, different," he reaches toward his guitar case, unzips a compartment and removes a worn looking piece of paper, folded in a tiny, neat square. He laughs as he unfolds it, tears twinkling in the corner of his eye. "I have carried this around with me, every single day since I started writing, performing. It's the very first song I've ever written," he bites his lip. "It's not even any good, really, this was before I had any proper sense of melody or anything but----"

"What's it about?" she asks tentatively. 

"Eddie," Abraham gives a weak smile over his shoulder before turning back to the piano. "I wrote it for Eddie,"

"You don't have to---" she starts but he holds a hand up silencing her.

"I've heard your music, know it….let me share this,"

Abbie sits back and nods, listening.

"We were born to walk together, born as helping hands, but when we, were torn asunder, I nearly strayed from the path. I forgot how to smile, without yours looking back, I forgot how to run, who would race me, who would win, and I'm left, with tomorrows, endless stretches of opportunity, for me to remember, we were born to walk together, and even with you gone, you're still walking, walking, with me," 

She doesn't know how to not tear up at that. Doesn't know what to do besides go to him, plunk herself down beside him on the bench and damn whether or not this is too close or what's decent and what's not she leans her head on his shoulder as he sings, listening to the words written by a younger Abraham, who'd just found his voice in music and was just then finding a way to communicate his own pains. 

When he's through she twines her fingers with his. We're so alike, she thinks, as they sit there in the quiet, but he knows who he is and I'm still figuring that out. But if he can do it---the caged animal that is her heart throws itself against the bars of its cage and she snaps back at it with a whip---I can too.

She starts talking with her eyes tracing the lyrics on paper and her head still leaned against him,"You know you've, you've really been a, spectacular friend, in so many short days, and you told me how proud you were of me last night and…..You've been through a lot too, you really have, and you've grown, I can see who you are now, and just listening to that alone who you were, and, and," she laughs to herself. "You talked about how my music inspired you but, what I just heard, after everything you've told me about what you went through with Crane---"

"Who hasn't gone through something with Crane?" Abraham grumbles, rolling his eyes and Abbie smirks.

"Well, all of that. You're pretty inspiring too. I'M proud of YOU," He looks down at the crown of her head on his shoulder, long enough that she turns her face up to meet his gaze. 

"Happy Birthday to you," she sings softly, quietly, "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Abraham, and Edward," She reaches up to brush away the tear idly running down his face. "Happy, Birthday," she chokes. "To, you," And then Abbie does something that surprises them both.

Abbie reaches up and gently, softly, presses a kiss to his cheek. 

************************  
"Surprise," Crane is waiting when Abraham gets back, still dazed and he must confess deeply affected by what just transpired between him and Abbie. He kept railing at himself as they'd parted ways, in an deliberately all too stand offish and separate manner. She seemed just as spooked by the damned thing as he had been. It was just a kiss on the cheek, but it had been the way her eyes shone when she'd sang to him, the way her fingers had been locked with his while doing so. That moment when she choked up on his behalf and for the second time, in that damn room, curse whatever weepy eyed affliction that he suffered from in that place, had tenderly wiped away tears and then had been so close, so near he could smell her hair, her perfume, and while he had been processing that the sensation of her soft lips against his cheek and his breath had halted. He'd honestly held his breath until she drew away, and her face was so open, and sweet and all he could do was smile weakly back.

Because he was shocked. 

He'd been aware, on a distant level, that he was growing fond of Abbie, felt a connection of sorts. But the rush he'd experienced then, the surprising urge he'd felt to meet those lips himself, to hold her face in his hands, THAT he had been wholly unprepared for. Hadn't been ready for the easy, comforting at home ness of the whole thing, had been assaulted by the notion when she'd taken his hand, there at the piano, by a relentless feeling of 'right' 

Get a grip, Abraham, he'd reprimanded himself when he'd given her the awkward distant hug and thanked her for a nice day out. She's getting married. You're playing for the damn wedding. Besides, she was just being nice. You two have shared a lot and so she was being sweet, pitying you on your birthday, because what other explanation could there possibly be? 

Well

She could…..

theoretically speaking…..

\----Nonsense, he stomps down the thought. No way on earth, no, that woman's life is complicated enough, she's going through enough, a funeral, planning a wedding meeting with Crane----oh for heavens sake meeting with Crane!---you're not going to, of all things Abraham, start to even DREAM about CONSIDERING that you might have feelings for the bride! It's an intolerable silly, STUPID STUPID STUPID notion. 

Besides you're friends, fast friends yes that have shared secrets that are deep and painful, but you are FRIENDS, she TRUSTS you, and you are not going to betray that trust, you were vulnerable, because it's your birthday, and----Crap what if she thought he'd organized it? pretended to be all sad and morose so she'd be extra nice to him? What if he HAD planned the whole thing, subconsciously?

You're being ridiculous----his mind cut in. 

But

Would you calm down? A woman kissed your cheek, no big deal.

But the way I felt.

Are you LISTENING to yourself? She's ENGAGED. Your best friend is trying to….something! Don't put yourself in that mess!

"Abraham?" Crane waves a hand before his face. "Abraham? are you unwell?" he grasps him by the arm and leads him into the kitchen, Abraham follows dumbly and let's Crane sit him in a chair, and his eyes vaguely take in the scene of a small cake on the table, lit with two candles. "For you and Edward," he explains quietly, with his head bowed. "Got it while I was out today, and this---" he returns with a case and Abraham throws his head in his hands. He cannot take this much kindness when he's a complete jumble inside. 

"Ichabod tell me that isn't a new guitar,"

"It isn't a new guitar," Ichabod deadpans. 

"Oh you idiot," he grouches before slinging his arms around his best friend.

"I thought---ergh--too tight Abraham too tight---" he wrestles himself out of Abraham's grasp, "You would like something shiny and new to play on your second television appearance, look, it's got your name on it," he gestures excitedly to the side where sure enough Abraham's name is scrawled in looping cursive. 

"How, when, HOW?"

"For the people you care about you make a way," Crane replies, his voice low. "And I'm going to be doing that more often," he thinks of Abbie, and what he will say, fearing her reaction, they are two people he has wrongly held back in life, in many ways, and he's going to atone for it. It starts here with Abraham. The nerve he'll need for the discussion with Abbie he can hardly contemplate. "Anyway, Happy Birthday, are you alright you seem very out of sorts"

Abraham swallows hard and meets Crane's eyes. They stare at one another a moment before Ichabod's brow furrows and he scrubs his hands across his face. 

"Luckily, I also purchased booze to celebrate"


	44. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up with Abe and Ichabod having a drink on his birthday.
> 
> A little Abbie pov.
> 
> We finally get the funeral, a bit of after the funeral.
> 
> And Abbie and Orion might have suddenly found common ground. 
> 
> Nick has a nugget of wisdom
> 
> and a sing along, because I like those

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda just started writing and didn't stop, so apologies for this one being a little messy! 
> 
> Once more many thanks for all of your comments! I value your feedback, it greatly impacts how I approach each chapter, thank you!

"Brandy, rum, scotch….?" Abraham stares in amazement at Ichabod's back as he rummages through the cupboards. 

"All for my birthday or is some of this….." he trails off as Crane begins arranging the bottles on the table before them, grabbing two tumblers and taking a seat opposite him. "Were you planning on drinking yourself?"

He glances at his friend while he twiddles his fingers before selecting a bottle, uncapping it he takes a whiff, makes a face of approval and begins pouring. "Largely for your birthday. Since I was unable to plan a party---self absorbed as I've been. I thought getting you sufficiently drunk might suffice. And it's all very good stuff. Although truth be told I'd also conspired to have myself a glass of liquid courage on the day before my meeting with Abbie," 

At the name Abraham's face falls again and Crane quirks his mouth. "Come to grips at last, have you?"

"Gimme the glass," Abraham grumbles as Crane smugly hands him his drink. 

Ichabod settles back in his chair, head tossed back, leg crossed over his knee, looking for all the world highly amused. "Tell me about this moment of revelation,"

"You know considering your own past with her you're being very…..odd,"

"I do not disillusion myself, Abraham. As you know, I have a great amount of care for Abbie. Deeply muddled and conflicted care and given a second chance I would certainly take it," he raises his glass, swirls it and takes a swig. "But you don't take years of friendship and cast it aside merely due to a conflict, or similarity in interest. Truth be told at the end of the day Abraham, what I feel or think hardly matters. Likewise for you, it's whether or not Abbie has even considered the possibility of ending her….engagement." 

"Now hold on, I didn't say---"

"Didn't say?" Crane sets his glass down. "You've been fascinated with her since that night at the coffeehouse. Since before then, when all you had was her voice and her….heart wrenching ode to me….." eyes downcast he sighs heavily. "No, Abraham, you didn't say. But some things need not be said, hmm? You've begun to feel something for her, and I don't care what you say, it troubles you, you looked like you'd seen a ghost when you came in here,"

I know because I've seen my reflection in the mirror when Katrina used to visit, he thinks. 

"She's getting married, Ichabod,"

"A fact I would thank you not to remind me," he quips. 

"So, hold on, you said, given a second chance. Well, are you going to ask for one?"

Crane splutters. "I beg your pardon"

"If, if you still care for her…..in the short time I've known her Ichabod I've seen her face when she talks about her past, about you, you demolished her. You tore her up, and it's so fresh for her still. She's still so hurt I…..I don't think she hates you nearly as much as you deserve,"

"I'm sorry is that supposed to be an encouragement?" 

"I'm just saying there are still…..feelings of some sort there. That's why she wants to speak with you. Sort it out. For all I know maybe….maybe she is ready to forgive you. Maybe you'll get that second chance."

Ichabod sits quietly for a moment in deep thought. He wants that, truth be told. In a fairy world that is how it would turn out. He'd revel in it.

Just as an addict revels in their next hit. 

They'd been addicts, him and Abbie, to each other, and have since been going through the most harrowing lengthy period of withdrawal. 

It might be time for them to finally get sober. 

"Let the future see for itself, shall we?" he raises his glass and gestures for Abraham to do the same. "To Abraham, and Edward, on their birthday, Happy Birthday Abraham, my brother and friend" and then he pours a spot on the floor. "For Eddie, though I did not know him. He'd be proud of the way you have lived on your behalf and his" he says. 

Abraham does the same "For Eddie," 

*****************************

He smells nice, she's thought before her lips touched his cheek. There was a brief pause in time, a second in which she thought he might have stopped breathing he had gone so still. When she drew back she saw the look of bewilderment on his face, quickly replaced by a faint smile. 

The atmosphere got strange around them after that. He walked too far away when they were exiting down the short hall, as if maybe he hoped to melt into the walls. He reached around too awkwardly for a distant back patting hug. 

As she walks home with her remaining confectionaries, she considers that maybe she's somehow made him uncomfortable, although why, when they'd been dancing and hugging and holding hands, lets call it what it is there on the bench, and wiping away tears in the brief period of their friendship, but she supposes everyone has their limits. She tries not to over think it. 

At the house she presents Jenny with the box of cupcakes. 

"Cupcakes?"

"Long story,"

"I've got time," Jenny begins, lifting the cover and helping herself to one.

"Ran into Abraham,"

"You seem to do a lot of that lately," Jenny points out, licking frosting off her finger and giving Abbie a wicked grin.

"I'm not even going to ask where you're going with that. Anyway, It's his birthday, so he came in with me,"

Jenny swallows her bite and chuckles. "Excuse me?"

"He had a twin that passed when they were young, it's a tradition for him to buy a cake, in memory. It just seemed so sad, I asked him to test cakes with me. No one should be alone on their birthday,"

"Let me get this straight. You, and a man you just met, went wedding cake shopping. Instead of you and your fiancee"

"Here we go," Abbie groans throwing her hands up in the air.

"Never mind me," Jenny hums as she reaches for another cupcake. "You handle your wedding how you see fit. Speaking of which. Have you placed a replacement order for your ring?"   
************************  
The morning of the funeral is grey, stormy and mud slick every where. A sea of black files into the church softly accompanied by Chantal ghosting through the hymns for the service.

Abbie is outside of herself. She'd driven up alone last night, which had demanded of her a certain vigilance on the road that she hadn't slept enough previously to back up. When she'd pulled up outside the house she had been surprised to find Luke ready and waiting at the door, his arms that had wrapped around her, and the soft smile he'd given her afterwards. He seemed…..changed. She wanted to ask if he was alright, if he had forgiven her for the secrets she'd kept, but with a funeral in the morning hardly seemed an appropriate time to open up pandora's box. 

So there she is, next to Luke and Family, listening to the mournful wailing they make through the hymns. The way strong voices belt out the verses in memory of Minerva, only to give into grief near the end, their voice heavy, broken, unintelligible sobs. It doesn't seem real. 

Nothing about life, in the last couple of days seems real. Hidden venues and past lovers and talent shows and weddings and funerals. Grief and love and complicated friendships. 

Standing here, in her black dress, gripping Luke's hand tightly in her own, a cold reality grips her here. Departure. Finality. Irreversible. That is the only constant. The only fail safe. Leaving. 

People leave. They always do, they have to. It's what life demands. 

Mama didn't have a choice in the matter. 

Neither did Minerva.

Or Eddie.

Abraham's parents. 

Katrina. 

The unknown that had washed away so long ago.

We are not made for forever, Abbie thinks and at last tears start to fall. Abraham's song lingers in her ear. She grips Luke's hand so hard she feels him squirm. 

Forevers are for fairytales. Forevers mean never having to take chances or make mistakes. Forevers are hollow unyielding stretches of time. The dead, get forevers. The dead get the sure unchanging security, in which they are never left, and no one leaves them, they are still, silent, nothing. Safe. They know no fear, hurt, love or any other fickle emotion that would otherwise make them flee. They can be solid safe immovable. Growing worms and insects and letting the earth feed on them. Devouring what ever had remained of who they once were, until nothing more than remnants, nothing more than memory, hovering around those they've left behind. That is what stays. 

That is what lingers like formidable dependable concrete. That is the permanent thing that could never surprise or betray you. Things past, forgotten, THOSE don't leave. They heal and scab and pave over but you can't reroute it, can't erase it, what is behind you is always behind you, if you go looking for your starting point that will never change. Your roots are yours and however you grow is up to you, whether you choose to flourish or wither--- but you cannot reject the soil in which you were planted, cannot rebel against it, already distant and gone. 

The past is dead. Dead time, seconds, minutes, sands of time that are no longer vital, present, living. The past is always there, you carry it with you, and you might choose to walk with your head tall, or let your self hunch over with the burden, but the past, that clings to you. Moments that held breath and then ceased to live, those are what walk with you, seep into your skin and burrow into your brain. You carry the dead with you. They don't leave. You make peace with them, you might even embrace them, but it is foolish to hold the future, a thing made of uncertainty, variables, humans who think change, move and live, it is impossible to hold them to the standard of devotion that death offers. And why would you, the dead aren't going anywhere. Why deliberately bind yourself up for the stability of what is long past instead of charging into the unknown. Why be a stunted thing? 

It is our nature to leave. We are born to die. We must keep moving, racing, careening through life and the world, living, until we keep our end of the bargain. 

All Abbie has ever wanted was for someone to stay. Beside her, there, with her, always, in Sleepy Hollow. Yet, when she thinks on it now, following Luke and the others as they escort the casket into the hurst, and she is ushered in among them into the waiting car, and the rain pelting down, those things did stay, the hurt, the pain, THAT stayed, that was what had wrapped its arms around her and stroked her hair into the night. It's always been with her. For the first time Abbie contemplates a new word, one that she has never embraced. A meaning she has never considered. 

The Dead stay, familiar with their burial ground, familiar with the loved ones they haunt, familiar with the past they live in. 

The Living, advancing in years towards new experiences and self discovery, running towards or perhaps away they choose new paths, fearlessly, even foolishly, they feel and love and hurt and endure and sprout new growth, they triumph, they sojourn toward tomorrow, step out of shadows into light, they run,----

They Leave. 

******************************  
Luke has been almost frighteningly, close, to Abbie since they drove home the night before. He'd kissed her so much in the elevator she couldn't breathe. She barely managed to ask him what had come over him, was it grief talking? demanding nearness? but he'd simply kept muttering "I'm sorry, and I am going to embrace who you are, I'm going to show you that, every single chance----" and he'd cut himself off with more kisses. She'd hit the bed hard. Literally, conked her head on the bed frame.

"Ouch!" 

"Shoot, Abbie? you alright?" and then the fervour was forgotten and he wrapped his arms protectively around her, effectively trapping her in his bed, making sure she would stay, right there---and stillness, for how long has she craved stillness?--- has never seemed so frightening as it did then. 

Suddenly the idea of being still, that reliable urge to be sedentary is instilling in her a potent brand of anxiety. 

She can't know that Luke is taking Chantal's advice DEEPLY to heart. 

Can't know that Chantal's going to become a part of her life, in a surprisingly unwelcome way.

When she gets home in the morning, Jenny is waiting on the couch with Nick beside her, both eating toast and drinking tea while watching the morning news. "Abraham called," she says, turning the tv off. "Said you're meeting with Ichabod Crane?" she raises a brow at her. "You wanna tell me what the hell for?"

"Not really,"

"Abbie,"

"Because I think it'll really help me get over it, okay?" She huffs and joins them on the couch, one foot pulled up underneath her "I've tied up my whole life around the way he made me feel, and I can't live that way. I can't be the Abbie I made myself be because I have been living in fear of an emotional bogey man. I can't be a wife when I'm afraid of being who I am, and I've damn well lost sight of who that is, and I don't want to think it, but it's bound up in him. I need to deal with it. Whatever it is."

Jenny is quick to protest. "You think giving that slimy worm a chance to say 'I'm sorry' is going to somehow magically stitch you back up? That he can wipe away everything he put you through in a day? Hell no, he needs to go on a quest or something. A trial."

Abbie groans, throwing her hands up in the air. "I didn't say that, but it'll be a step in the right direction, and he lives here now, I can't keep ducking down alleys when I see him coming. If I'm going to have anything resembling a normal life in this town, I need to do this,"

"I just don't think----"

"Jenny" Nick interrupts and both Mills women turn towards him, perplexed and intrigued. He runs his hand through his hair and rises from his seat, shifting to perch on the coffee table----Jenny can hear Abbie's internal scream--- and takes a deep breath. "Think of it like this. When you're on the road, a hike, or a cross country trip, whatever, you have a map with you, right? And say you get lost, you're unsure of a turn, what do you do?"

"Check the map for the right route," Abbie answers.

"Right. Or, you've lost something, right? You can't quite remember where, what do you do?"

Abbie and Jenny exchange a look before Jenny wets her lips and replies. "You retrace your steps," 

"Right." Nick shoots to his feet. "Meeting with Ichabod Crane is part of Abbie's map, her way of retracing her steps and figuring out how to get to her destination point," he finishes, gives a satisfied nod before striking off down the hall toward the bathroom. The sisters gape after him. 

Abbie silently watches him go in a state of fascination, "That was almost sort of,"

"Wise," Jenny says, her voice full of too much pride as she puffs her chest out. "My man is wise," she turns and grips Abbie's hand. "Alright. Okay. You do, whatever the hell it is you need to do. I'm behind you" 

Abbie grips back. "Thanks Jenny," 

*****************************  
At the station Abbie is double checking that the premises is as she left it the week prior. There's going to be more rehearsals and footage taken this week to roll when they air for week two, so she needs to be there, keeping the remaining contestants safe, along with camera staff while they coach and rehearse.

Luke returned to work today too, in spite of protests that perhaps he needed more time to grieve he'd forcefully denied the time off, said he was eager to be back out on the streets, to carry on. It's what his grandmother would have wanted. He's on the beat, and Abbie is checking in with her team, Andy sidles up to her on her way down the hall to the security room and she whirls on him. "It's forgotten. It's done," she bites out. "We're on the clock." and he sulkily walks away. Feeling slightly ruffled, she rolls her shoulders and decides to make a detour towards the wing where the practice rooms are. Macey is working on a musical piece, Someone Like You from Jekyll and Hyde, further down the hall she can hear a belted version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the a cappella group seems undecided between Avenue Q and a selection from Lion King. 

The genre pick for this week is Broadway, a cruel thing, Abbie thinks, because it's one of those genres that can make or break how convincing an act will be, and yet she knows that's why Orion has chosen it, because he wants to challenge the rip roaring soloist to reign it in and become a character, for Macey to find the nuance in well known and beloved tunes, and for Abraham to adapt that folky voice of his, just to see if he can. It's testing their capacities. There's supposed to be a coach coming in for it, because Abbie knows Orion is the last person who should be trying to direct people on how to perform a song from a musical, so she wonders which poor soul he roped into the job. 

Luckily, the contestants also get to perform a cover of their choice, so if they manage to mangle their broadway piece, they have a chance to redeem themselves. Hopefully, because that Somewhere Over the Rainbow rendition is sounding rough. She knocks politely on a door after peering in the window and Abraham looks up.

There's a moments hesitation before he waves her in. After the unprecedented attack his heart had launched on him two days prior, Abraham's a bit leery about being alone with Abbie. Especially where music is involved. He recalls the night at coffee house, the music consultation, when they'd danced the other night, his birthday---there's something about when they throw melodies and harmonies, rhythms and feelings in the equation that parcels them away into their own world. And he fears it now, he fears he has no governing now where music and Abbie are concerned. 

Fears, however, have never been something Abraham bowed to. So he waves her in and goes back to focusing on the music. Hoping against all hope that some impulse won't get away from him and make him act foolish.

Abbie strolls in, her hair pinned back. She'd straightened it this morning at Luke's, he always liked her hair when it was sleek and shiny. She notes that he's using a new guitar, She jerks her head towards it "Where'd you get that?"

"Birthday present from Crane," he mutters, positioning his fingers right as he peers at the music on the stand in a state of concentration. 

"That was kind of him,"

"Very,"

"What are you working on?" she asks and he glares at her as he plays through the intro. It takes a second but when she recognizes the song it takes a great amount of restraint not to join in.

"One song, glory, one song, before I go, glory, one song to leave behind, find," He glances over at her, with her lips pressed together so hard it looks painful. "Oh for crying out loud if you wanna sing along you can," he tries to sound annoyed but she can see the smile that creeps across his face as he starts again. Abbie smiles and crosses the room to sit on the stool opposite him. This is the danger zone he thinks. Alone in a room sitting opposite with song, but he can't help it. As much as he fears himself he enjoys moments like these too much. He'll admit at least that. He enjoys Abbie's company a great deal. He refuses to commit himself beyond that. No matter how smug and disarmingly supportive Crane seemed to be, Abraham is not ready to indulge the idea of developing possibly more than platonic feelings for Abbie. 

"I know some people say it's a crappy show, but the songs are timeless," 

"Seasons of love, anyone?" Abraham suggests.

"I thought you'd never ask," and then, to Abraham's surprise, Abbie approaches the piano.

She can't play. Not really. Not well. But she can remember chords, and just enough rhythm to begin plunking out the familiar tune. 

Down the hall Macey stops and begins to wheel toward the sound. 

The a cappella group stop bickering long enough to wander towards the music that they know, that everyone knows. It's been performed again and again people who don't know the show have heard it, and it draws them, they can't help it. 

The soloist decides to stop murdering Over the Rainbow and joins the other performers meandering down the hall to where Abraham and Abbie are singing. Someone opens the door and the band of them all stroll in joining in with the pair.

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes"  
***********************

"I just can't believe you thought hiring her for security would be a smart move," Chantal mutters as she keeps pace with Orion in her heels. "I told you to get her to sit down with you, not black mail her friends. You have no control,"

"You're here to do a job, not lecture me," Orion replies as they turn down the corridor, headed towards his office when Chantal pauses and begins back pedalling. "Chantal," Orion hollers after her, "Chantal come back here!" he grunts before following after her, listening for the rapid tap tap tap of her heels as she turns the corners out of sight, and he can hear it then.

A chorus of voices singing in harmony at the top of their lungs. The hair on his arms stands on end as he lets the music guide him until he finds himself in the practice wing. All four acts are here, gathered around the piano, smiling jovial faces, bonded and connected in making music together, and, this part takes him by surprise, there's Abbie, with her head thrown back and Abraham is sitting next to her, they are swaying together on the piano bench with their fingers dancing across the keys and the smiles on their faces, the pure joy of everyone in the room is…..refreshing. He's thinks it strange, that the sight of Abbie being so chummy with Abraham doesn't annoy him nearly as much as seeing her with Luke had. Maybe it's just the music talking, but he finds he rather likes how they look together, sound together, even though every logical part of his brain is screaming he's gone insane. 

Abbie is so at ease. "Measure, measure your life in love!" and she hits that high note, the sweet spot just so and Orion feels his face break into a smile because it is so damn GOOD to see Abbie caught up in music, to hear her just giving it with unfettered joy and not giving a damn. It's worth gold to see her like this. 

The group continue to sing so harmoniously together with Abraham and Abbie leading them back in. 

"Seasons of Love" 

"Love,"

"Seasons of love,"

"Love"

And Chantal is there, looking on, in her maroon dress and styled afro and her eyes twinkling with joy. Rent was one of the first shows she fell for back in highschool. She'd learn to hate it after hearing peer after peer mangle the songs, but there's still something about it that feels like home. That reminds her of times when her more talented peers in university would hold broadway sing a longs---because that's what people in music faculties do----and watch the campus performances. She's lost count of how many times she'd tried to hit the note Abbie just did, before she accepted her own fate as an operatic soprano more than a broadway one. It's touching to see it done right, with such reckless abandon. 

When they all finish singing, improvising high notes, some of them clearly off key they break off into laughter and hugs and calling for another song when Chantal begins to clap. They all jump, caught off guard by her presence and she strides forward, greeting each of them warmly until she is at the piano and Abbie and Abraham, still trapped in their own bubble don't even notice her approach until she is behind them and she reaches forward and taps him delicately on the shoulder. Abraham glances up, his jaw drops and he stands, blinking very slowly. 

"Burlesque?"

Chantal holds her arms wide. "Brother Bear," 

Now, at least, Orion and his brain can agree to be shocked. They can agree that the jealousy he would have expected to feel watching Abbie and Abraham is put to far better use on the spectacle of Abraham and Chantal embracing in the middle of the room, laughing and murmuring to one another. 

Abbie doesn't understand the bitter taste in her mouth, can't quite put a finger on why she's somewhat uncomfortable with how familiar these two are, the peculiar names they called one another, indicative of a history that they share. A history he's never mentioned to her. 

It shouldn't bother me, she scolds herself. It shouldn't, but she just wishes that the woman would stop standing so close.

"Chantal," Abraham says warmly, arms still around her,"What are you doing here?"

"I'm on the show!" Chantal confides excitedly, because it is so good to see an old friend and Abraham feels likewise. "I'm going to be mentoring you, just like old times!"

Abbie meets eyes with Orion across the room. It's laughable really, that of all things that might bring them together again, their kindred feelings of unease about Abraham and Chantal might be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Song Glory and Seasons of Love are from Rent by Jonathon Larson
> 
> I do not own any of the other songs quoted. 
> 
> please leave your thoughts!


	45. Run All You Want II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funny how life works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I used a sledgehammer way back when? here comes another one

The other performer file out the room and Chantal and Abraham are still chattering to each other with animated voices and gestures, rapidly trading stories back and forth. Abbie and Orion watch them, dumbfounded. 

At last the duo take a break and Abraham turns toward her, a hand extended. "Abbie! This is Chantal!" 

And who IS Chantal exactly? she wonders as she approaches and doesn't have time to react before Chantal throws her arms around her. "So glad to meet you," she says. "You have an absolutely lovely voice. I've heard so much about you,"

"You have?"

Chantal drops her voice. "Orion. I want to apologize on his behalf for putting you in this, spiteful," she glances over her shoulder at him, "situation. It wasn't fair of him, it wasn't. I mean, I told him he needs to sit down and talk with you about his feelings, but, Abbie I never thought, though I suppose by now I should know better than to think he WOULDN'T do something like this." she takes a breath gestures to Abraham who is watching them both fondly. "Abraham and I went to school," she explains. "I mentored him his first year. We were good friends. He went his way I went mine, but it's so good to see him after all of this time, how do you know each other?" she asks eagerly and Abbie splutters. 

"She's getting married," Abraham answers and at the same time Orion makes a strangled choking sound. 

"M-married?" 

"That was pretty much my reaction," Abraham muses. 

Chantal turns on her with wide eyes. "Married! Congratulations! When?"

"This month," Abraham answers again, "I'm playing for the wedding, she's going to be Abbie Morales soon"

"Funny I just played a funeral for a Morales," she trails off as it clicks into place. "Oh,"

"Minerva, Morales?"

"Yes," Chantal concedes. "Luke?"

"Yes," Abbie confirms. 

"Isn't it funny how life works?" 

*********************************  
After the collision at the studio Abbie needs air and lots of it. Abraham trails behind her, going on and on and on about what she doesn't know because she stopped listening when he opened with 'Chantal'.

"Abraham? easy on the chit chat, okay? that whole thing gave me a headache,"

"Chantal has always been a bit too energetic. Kind spirited though, loves to help people, it's like a compulsion of hers, I used to tease her about it, called her a Honey Bee because----" and Abbie misses the rest because her mind snags on one phrase. 

Honey Bee? Abbie repeats to herself, flashing back to, was it only two days ago at the bakery? "But my Honey Bee here just lives to make people happy" His, Honey Bee. Had he meant Chantal? for a flickering of an instant that day she'd almost thought he was really talking to her---which was ridiculous---but suddenly she finds herself wondering if there is more between Abraham and Chantal than he had let on. Even so it's none of your business, she chides herself, but she can't help but mention it.

"That's what you called me at the bakery, on your birthday,"

"Hmm?" 

"Honey Bee. Is that your name for her? Were you thinking of her?" she plasters a teasing smile on her face. "Is she the one that got away, Van Brunt?" 

His face flushes. "Yes and no." he admits and Abbie is displeased that she feels disappointed by the answer. "I did have a crush on her, the whole time. I mean, from the very first day, but, she was never interested in me like that. But she was really there for me during my university years, finding my voice in music. Saved me from failing first year theory," he jokes and some of the tension leaves Abbie's body. But only some.

"How come you never mentioned her?"

Abraham narrows his eyes at her. "If I'd thought you'd be jealous I would have,"

Abbie scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself Van Brunt it's unbecoming," 

Abraham stops walking abruptly. "You've got your discussion with Ichabod tonight, I should probably tell him where to find you,"

Abbie's mind spins from the subject change. "Yep, around seven, if that works for him,"

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks, grasping her arms, concern etched all over his face. 

"I'm a big girl, Abraham. I can handle it."

Abraham considers stepping back and away but pulls Abbie closer instead, locking his arms around her. Abbie returns the embrace without hesitation, her head pressed to his chest. She chuckles. 

"Hey I'm not meeting a firing squad. He's your best friend, got you that pretty new guitar."

"He also broke your heart," he replies steadily, and his arms apply just slightly more pressure. And it's warm and comforting and Abbie could stand there for a long time, if she's being honest. It's been too long since a hug has felt so sure so---she steps back. 

"Tell him where it all began. He'll know the place," as she begins to walk away he tugs her back, gives her a confident smile.

"Don't hold anything back,"

Abbie winks at him, "Ten years. If I hold anything in any longer I'll explode," 

*********************************  
"Married," Orion mutters incredulously for what is surely the thousandth time back in his office. Chantal sits in his chair, her feet on his desk, thoroughly bored. "Married, she's, marrying him?"

"Well that would explain why your confession didn't go over so well the other day," Chantal concludes "You slugged her fiancee," Orion turns on her.

"And you."

Chantal glances at him. "And me, what?"

"Since when do you know Abraham? my contestant?"

"Since before you," she retorts, swinging her feet off the desk. "We go back. would you stop pacing you're going to make me go crosseyed"

"Why didn't you ever mention it?"

She regards him skeptically. "Surely you didn't think you were the only friend I've ever had?"

"No of course not but Tally you're….you're….." 

She leans forward, waiting for him to finish the sentence he keeps stammering over. "I'm…..?"

"Never mind," he waves his hand. "Never. Mind." 

"Suit yourself," Chantal chimes as she rises from the seat, grabbing her bag at the door. "I'm going to go and consult with, Macey, is it? on her song choice."

"Go, go," Orion seats himself behind the desk, head in his hands. Chantal pauses at the door and grins. 

"Abbie and Abraham sound wonderful together, don't they?"

Chantal knows what she feels for Orion Angel is wrong. With every fibre of her being she knows that she is wasting time, energy and the beats of her heart on that stubborn, spoiled man in there who can't even tell which way is up right now. She knows she's caught a special brand of madness that had made her want to help him pursue Abbie even though she feels a distinct pull towards him herself. And had things worked out between him and Abbie she would have honestly been happy for him, her heart would ache, yes, but she'd dust herself off and move on until she found someone worth giving that heart to. 

Finding out Abbie is getting married is a mild inconvenience to her, as it happens. For as long as Orion was busy chasing Abbie, Chantal had an alternative focal point, she could be on the edge of his life, the friend he called to consult with on music and his romantic woes, and there would always be 'Abbie' to protect her from hoping that Orion would just look at her.

Just once. 

And really see her.

Now, Chantal can't foresee how Orion can possibly fix anything with Abbie, and she most certainly is not about to aid him in any mad scheme to win her from Luke. Why she just gave Luke a pep talk about Abbie mere two days ago and she hadn't even known it. She's already far too involved and she has no interest in stepping deeper into the muck. 

Orion will have to figure this part out on his own.

And Chantal is going to have to find some other way to distract her heart. 

*************************************  
It is six thirty and Crane is walking down the street, he had two drinks before he left. He has patted his coat numerous times. Check check check, He notes and catches a glimpse of himself in a shop window and cringes. 

He'd gone for a haircut today, a silly whim to embrace the new man he wants to be, had told them he wants to start fresh, his long hair held too many memories for him. So he went in and asked for a cut, something new, something that would make him so far removed from who he was that he could purposely stride into the future. 

And it doesn't look bad, but it is a massive adjustment, and he fears Abbie's scrutiny. If what he has to say to her isn't enough reason for alarm. 

************************************  
The bell dings as a customer walks in. The pawnbroker lifts his head and checks the clock. "I'm closing man, sorry about that"

"Please? I've been eying that ring in your display case there for my girl. It's our anniversary tomorrow, please?"

The pawnbroker looks him up and down, checks the time again. "I'm not haggling, price is set. You got cash?"

The customer grins eagerly. "Yeah I do," 

The draw is too quick. 

The reach too slow for the alarm. 

The knife makes a quick cut that stops the owner in his tracks, slumping down behind the counter, the thief ransacks the counters, clawing up cash and grasping for the beautiful ring in the display window, pocketing it and running out the door. 

The owner barely drags himself to his counter to depress the alarm button.

***********************************

"Morales we got an armed robbery at RobinHood PawnShop" 

Luke radios back. "I'm on it,"

**********************************  
The racket from the pawnshop alerts the convenience store clerk next door. "Thief!" they scream on the street "Thief!"

******************************

"THIEF" 

Ichabod turns around before a man runs into him, shoving him aside.

"THIEF" the call rings out again, and a stupid impulse makes Ichabod grab for the mans coat. 

They begin to wrestle in the street, ducks and jabs and a hard blow bloodies Ichabod's nose, another one to his head and he sways, he considers giving up the fight when he sees the glint of the blade coming for him.

I don't think so, growls the beast, awoken and hungry.

Ichabod sees red. 

There are punches and kicks and in the commotion of blood, grunts, screaming and sirens he gets the knife, gets the box that was dropped too, assuming that's what the robber stole and his assailant is down the on the ground, coughing and spluttering with blood on his lips and swollen eyes. 

"Hands up!"

The rage is still there, thrumming in Ichabod's blood, the beast still poised to strike. It doesn't stand down like it should when faced with a predator. Ichabod whirls on the voice, knife in hand, eyes wild.

"Hands up!"

The adrenaline is still roaring in his ears, he can't make sense of what just happened, it's been so long since he lost himself to the savagery of that dormant creature inside of him. He approaches the officer, eyes dazed, banged up from the fight. 

"Hands up or I'll shoot!" 

*****************************

Abbie checks her watch and picks up her pace as she strides forward, there is all manner of anxiety pumping through her veins and she doesn't want to be late, she starts to sprint when she notices a commotion up ahead. An officer---no, that's Luke,----she walks quicker, with his gun on a man holding a knife and some other small object in his hand, the suspect is tall, too tall, his blue eyes are wide, he's bloodied and he's----

"Crane!" she screams in disbelief as she launches into a run.

Her voice jolts him, his eyes snap into focus and he can see Abbie over the officer's shoulder and he forgets himself, forgets where he is. Forgets the thief, knife, cop, blood and monster in that instant, overwhelmed by concern as he wonders why she looks so worried, he's been so nervous about this meeting all day and he moves toward her, advancing in the officers direction.

It's a split second before the reality hits. A sliver before Luke pulls the trigger. 

It only registers, once his knees buckle and he crashes to the ground, that he's been shot. He goes down, the sky moves above him as he falls backward. 

"Crane!" Abbie screams as she brushes past Luke and kneels at his side. 

Abbie has wished many things on Ichabod Crane over the years. But never this.

A groan from the body beyond them grabs her attention and she nods to Luke. The clerk down the street has caught up and is prepared to give a statement.

"Not him," she confirms, "The other man, there, with the hat, the tall guy fought him, he's innocent,"

There is a chorus of sirens, slamming of car doors, the rattling wheels of a stretcher, the steady lift and carry of Ichabod's beaten body and Abbie scrambles into the back of the ambulance with him. 

But innocence doesn't turn back the clock. 

It won't put the bullet back in the gun.

A bullet that Katrina had spared him, today found it's mark. 

The paramedics pry the knife from his hand and offer her the box to hold. 

When she cracks it open she sees her engagement ring. Abbie doesn't bother trying to muffle her cry of anguish.


	46. There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opens with Chantal and Macey in rehearsal. This chapter is interspersed with verses of the song Macey is singing.  
> We get some moments before Abbie gets the news about the shooting, some reflection on her end, Abe pov, a convergence of characters coming together at this moment in order to be "There" For Abbie and Abe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of scene jumps, so I'm sorry for that, and it's mixed in with the song lyrics (because I like songs, sorry) but I kinda wrote this chapter the way I saw it in my head, sort of like a montage of moments with the singing going on. If that makes any sense? Basically I'm hoping it's not too much of a mess to follow. There's also a brief 'what if' moment in there too. 
> 
> Anyway I hope to have another update ready fairly soon. Thank you all who have been reading, who have stuck with me on all these highs and lows and twists that I've thrown in here. I was trying to finish this in 50 chapters but that might not happen, so thank you in advance for hanging in there! 
> 
> Hint: I didn't come all this way just to break your heart. Dent it maybe, but break it? I'd never forgive myself. 
> 
> So here's the question. 
> 
> Do you trust me?

"Drop your jaw more, there, there now if you can fit two fingers in your mouth, like so," Chantal demonstrates "That's the minimum amount of room you want when you're singing, especially broadway, now come on, over here, that wall is audience. I'm going to challenge you to use your gestures, your voice, and your body to engage with the song, ready?"

Macey bobs her head excitedly as Chantal begins the intro. Macey clears her throat and begins: 

"I peer through windows,  
Watch life go by,  
Dream of tomorrow,  
And stayed inside"

**********  
Abraham fought the absurd urge at that moment to kiss Abbie's hair before she laughed into his chest. "Hey I'm not meeting a firing squad. He's your best friend, got you that pretty new guitar."

He admires her courage so much, how valiantly she has turned herself around from wanting to clam up entirely to being ready and willing to confront the source of her pain. 

"The past was holding me,  
Keeping life at bay,"  
********************  
As Abbie walks away from Abraham, headed to grab herself a cup of tea to settle her nerves she dares to feel a little proud of herself. The nerves are buzzing in her system already just thinking about seeing Crane again. She wonders if she's ready, what can she possibly hope to accomplish? But what does she have to loose anymore? She has spent so many years held prisoner by her fear of hurt. Living this shadow life, being this strong wall, but what is strong, she wonders now. A steadfast determination to be unflinching? Or a willingness to stand after being knocked down, no matter how many times.  
*******************

"More, can you give me more Macey?" Chantal encourages as the music builds. Macey inhales deeply for the next phrase.

"I wandered lost in yesterday,"  
*******************  
Abbie turns into the starbucks, suddenly struck by the fact that this is where she first met Abraham, her and Jenny were right here and everything was so normal, so neat and tidy she could never suspect how thoroughly mingled Abraham would become in her life. How newly reintegrated Crane would be. 

"Wanting to fly -  
But scared to try."

Abbie finds herself musing on that first day when Abraham took her to that underground place, when she divulged more of her heart than she had ever dared to a soul before. She'd been petrified of ever breathing a word of it. But he'd held her hand. He barely knew her but he had been there for her, danced with her, embraced her, when was the last time she had ever connected with someone so fast?

"But if someone like you  
Found someone like me,  
Then suddenly  
Nothing would ever,  
be the same!"  
*********************

February 2005- and on

Had she turned then in his arms and told him her fears. "I'm afraid if I love you, that you'll leave me like mama did, and I'll be alone, like when Jenny left."

He might have broken down then and told her his own private horrors. The anger that he wrestled with and how he was afraid of showing her that monster one day.

They would have held each other tight, amazed that broken as they were, they'd found one another, and now knowing their flaws, they would never let go. 

Not when he yelled and broke things. Not when she retreated into silence.

There would be a miscarriage still, when a sudden fit overcame him, surprising them both and terrified her with the newness of it.

But this time he would be there. That burden would still lie between them, but they will share in, it grieve together and try again. 

It would not be bliss. 

There would be no music---no run ins with Orion that first time in 2006---she'd be with Crane at therapy. Oblivious to a new life once more trying to take form. 

There would be no album for Abraham---no gutting solo album to inspire him like never before. He would be settled in Sleepy Hollow. Open a music studio. No leaps of faith and no taking chances. 

The gem of a place, only accessible through secret doors in the walls would go undiscovered.

Katrina would have passed, lived a less weary life.

Orion would never hold that talent show, never feeling bonded to Sleepy Hollow having never bonded with Abbie.

Macey would never find the courage to face a stage and sing. A dream never born.

Andy and Luke would glance at Abbie twice, once for her beauty, twice to note the ring, and leave her alone. 

Chantal would never arrive in town. 

Ten years later they would stage their anniversary at the place 'where it all began' after begging Jenny to babysit. 

There would still be a theft, a different bauble, a different valuable thing worth money but not life.

Crane would still be a foolish hero.

Abbie would still rush toward him.

He would stupidly walk towards her.

The gun would still fire.

He would still go down.

There would be a child at home, now in peril of losing their father.

There would be so much more to lose.  
**************************  
July 2015

"My heart would take wing,  
And I'd feel so alive -  
If someone like you  
Found me!"

Orion meanders down the hall, letting himself in while Macey sings. Abraham doubled back, having forgotten his song book in the excitement and hears his student sounding so sweet and wonderful and he joins them in the room shortly after. He gazes on Macey fondly, feeling that overwhelming swell of pride. To her credit, Chantal doesn't break concentration as she plays and the two men don't distract Macey.

So many secrets,  
I long to share!  
**********************  
Calvin drags and drops files, fiddling with lighting at the computer before leaning back and smiling at his screen in satisfaction before a call comes through and he frowns.  
**********************  
Jenny and Nick have just gotten home from the museum, kicked off shoes and dropped bags and her feet are up in Nick's lap as they turn on the television. Jenny's gaze fixates on the image of Abbie rushing to be at a fallen man's side and it is slow motion as Nick rises, pulling her to her feet, leading her staggering out the door, they leave the television on. 

"Civilian Professor Ichabod Crane was shot today during an armed robbery chase,"  
**********************  
"All I have needed,  
is someone there"

Abraham keeps beaming at his pupil until his phone buzzes. A frantic hysterical voice.

"Abbie?" 

Orion glances imperceptibly at Abraham and he drops his voice.

"Abbie? Abbie slow down, slow down sweetheart" this small endearment will be allowed for now.

"But if someone like you,"

Chantal looks up then, feeling a strange heat creeping up her neck and sees Orion's gaze focused on her. 

"Found someone like me,"

Abraham's hands begin to tremble. "Where, where?" he demands, notebook retrieved, guitar slung on his shoulder, heart pounding so loud, "I'm coming," He leaves with less subtlety than he would have liked, grabs the first taxi. "Fifty bucks just be fast!" he screams. Ed rolls his eyes and speeds down the street.

"Then suddenly  
Nothing would ever,  
be the same!"  
*************************  
Calvin snaps shot after shot of the crime scene, but catches a glimpse of something familiar clambering into the ambulance and abandons the story then and there, gets in his car and follows the vehicle to Sleepy Hollow Hospital.  
*************************  
"My heart would take wing,  
And I'd feel so alive -  
If someone like you  
Found me!"

Abbie keeps screaming as they take him into emergency, whisking him through doors where she may not follow and turns, feeling so shaken, so scared and fragmented inside, into Abrahams arms as he bursts into the emergency waiting room. He'd told Ed to keep the change, had leapt out of the taxi and sprung through the doors, just barely catching a glimpse of the top of Crane's head before he vanished down the hall.  
**********************  
"Bigger Macey! Go for it!" Chantal encourages, playing with renewed vigour, Macey tanks up and let's the room fill with the hopeful melody. Takes a bit ritardando going into the final refrain.

"But ,  
if,  
someone,  
like you!"  
*********************

Abbie has never been lucky enough to have comforting arms when she had endured her first great hurt. She is so grateful at this moment for Abraham to hold her, so thankful that she has the strength to hold him too, because he needs this just as much. They are both coming apart at the seams but desperately trying to hold each other together. 

Found someone like me!  
********************  
"Stop stop!" Jenny hollers at Nick as he lets her out and he heads to park the car.  
********************  
"Then suddenly  
Nothing would ever,  
be the same!"

Orion slowly approaches the piano where Chantal sits, lowers himself to sit next to her on the edge.  
**********************  
Luke is frustrated by papers and interviews and statements back at the scene, he has somewhere to be, he needs to be with her, needs to understand what exactly just happened---"Officer Morales" but he can't get away, can't escape.  
********************  
"Tell me he's going to be okay," Abraham chokes.

Abbie nods and forces confidence that she doesn't feel. "He's going to be okay," her voice cracks, and their arms lock tighter, tighter, tighter. 

"I can't lose him Abbie, he's all I've got, I can't---I can't"

"You have me," Abbie promises. "He'll be fine, I know he will, but you'll always have me. Crane isn't your last line of defence anymore," she can't account for this swell of surety, doesn't know why she is so vehement about this truth, but emotion overcomes her and she buries her head in his chest.

"He'll be fine," Abraham repeats, desperate to believe it. "And I'm here for you, I am---"

"My heart would take wing,  
And I'd feel so alive -"

Jenny, Nick and Calvin come to a halt in the waiting room, silently looking on at Abbie and Abraham locked in a tearful embrace of comfort, hair petting and murmuring and so close

"If someone like you  
Loved me..."

Luke gets away at last, he joins them all in emerge but halts at the door, watching Abbie and Abraham, crumbling into one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been so strong to endure this with me, please continue being strong and keep me company as I continue this wild ride. 
> 
> Seriously. You guys have made writing this beyond worth my while. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Someone Like You is from Jekyll and Hyde the Musical by Robert Louis Stevenson


	47. Olive Branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chantal and Orion head to the hospital. Lots of waiting room moments. Chantal has a talk with Abbie. 
> 
> Feels.
> 
> News.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> threw a moment in here that I hope isn't total cheese. But it came to me and I couldn't not write it. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Again so grateful for you all!<3 <3 <3

"That was beautiful Macey," Chantal nods, pleased. "Just like that on the day, and you're a shoe in for the final round. Right Orion?" when she turns she takes in how close he is sitting, their eyes lock for but a second before Chantal rises to her feet, approaching Macey and complimenting her once more, then notes the fact that Abraham had left. "Where's Abraham?"

Orion shrugs. 

Frowning, Chantal goes to her bag and rummages around for her phone, finds it lit up with an unread message. Suddenly anxious she unlocks her screen and reads. Her frown deepens, and then a hand flies to her mouth in shock. 

"Tally?"

"He must have sent it on the drive. Rehearsals done for today Macey, you have someone to give you a ride home?"

"Mom should be out there," Macey answers worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You rest, okay, I'll see you tomorrow to touch it up." Chantal quickly gathers her bag and strides from the room, Orion hastening to catch up. Out in reception she nods to who she assumes must be Macey's mother. Orion waves.

"Macey's read to go," he supplies, still following close behind. "Tally," he calls as they head for her car. "Tally what's going on,"

"Abraham's friend was shot." she explains. "I'm going for moral support. He got the news while Macey was singing, that's why he left in such a hurry, well are you coming with me or not?" she asks when he stalls outside at her car.

Orion fidgets, uncharacteristically. 

"Orion!" she insists, tapping her foot. "I haven't got time for this, are you coming?" there is fire in her eyes and that's something. Watching Chantal's fierce friendship in action, that unwavering loyalty and dedication to be there for those in need, it's a powerful thing, makes him sweat a little, his knees a bit weak. 

"Yeah, yeah I'm coming let's go," 

*****************************  
Everyone turns to acknowledge the arrival of Luke except for Abraham and Abbie. 

Still holding each other so close it's possibly they might have fused. For the time being they've stopped trying to voice words of comfort. They don't trust their voices at this point. The unreliable nature of it. Don't want to open themselves to the risk of a sob or another broken word. Silence will have to do for now. Silence and each other. They don't know long they stand there until Abraham finally leans back, just a tad and Abbie raises her chin and their eyes connect, both shimmering with stubborn tears. Abraham takes a deep shuddering breath. "Okay?" he asks.

"Okay," and then at once they let go, as much as their bodies will allow, their fingers defiantly cling to one another though, and what's the point in making a show of dropping the other. They need this, they are so worried and scared they need to be anchored to something, anything. As if feeling the others unease they both give a reassuring squeeze at the same time, and for just a second, a flicker of a smile appears and blinks out before they turn, with wide eyes to their audience. 

"Jenny?" Abbie calls softly, drifting towards her sisters open arms, still with her hand in Abrahams he's forced to follow her as Jenny hugs them both fiercely and Nick gives him a strong embrace. 

"We heard on the news," Nick explains. "Came straight here."

Abbie blinks, her head swimming when her eyes land on Calvin. "What--?"

"Got called in for the story on the robbery, but I abandoned it when I saw you get in the ambulance," he twists his mouth. "I don't know, just decided that if you might need anyone, I'd be there," he nods to Jenny and Nick, "But I think they got you covered," he begins to turn away but Abbie calls out.

"No, you can stay, if you want, I---thanks for coming, really that was so thoughtful of you,"

Calvin scratches behind his ear and takes in the scenery of the waiting room. There are people openly staring at all of them and he meets each pair of eyes with a glare until they go back to examining their own injuries and worrying over their own loved ones. Then he takes in Abraham. The clasped hands. Seems like an alright guy. 

"This the lucky man?" Calvin jokes as he shakes Abraham's free hand. 

"No, no," Abraham corrects, his face flushing, and at last this feels just inappropriate enough to let go of Abbie's hand. She rallies quickly.

"No, Abraham's just……" 

Just? 

JUST?

how can you dismiss this rapid bond with JUST? 

"Just a friend" she finishes. Calvin's face shows puzzlement but he doesn't press, thankfully, he scowls however when Luke all but shoves him out of the way.

"Abbie? Abbie? Abbie I don't understand, who was he? I didn't even see you, and he approached,"

"And he was armed," she summarizes flatly, because she saw the knife. She remembers that much, everything is dull except for the replayed blossom of red before Crane went down, and it's unfair of her, it's mean, but she doesn't want Luke to touch her right now, she can't be held by the hands that pulled the trigger on Ichabod Crane. He shot her map. He shot her starting line and Abbie can't contemplate what will happen to her, what overwhelming tide will drown her at last, what horrible creature will claw it's way out the cage and devour her inside out if she doesn't get another chance to talk to him. 

Luke senses her distance and thankfully doesn't come any closer, just stands there opposite, hands by his side. So confused. He was doing his job. A horrible accident yes but it wasn't his fault. The man had been armed, he'd hadn't been listening to commands, his eyes weren't focused and then suddenly he'd come at him so quickly---but that doesn't matter now. Not the way Abbie's looking at him. 

"Who, who is he?" he asks quietly, scared to breathe. 

"Ichabod Crane. The infamous Ichabod Crane," she tosses her head, cramming a hand in her mouth, tears racing down her cheeks and strides away quickly, ignoring those that call for her so she can have a moments peace in the bathroom. 

Chantal and Orion arrive at last and in any other situation someone might have rolled their eyes, but there's no place to be exasperated here. Most of them do not know Crane, but they know Abbie, know Abraham, know that were the roles reversed, they would be there for them, fight for them tooth and nail, and it's insignificant to take time out of their lives to be there for them. Because these two are worth it. And even that man in there, breaker of hearts with the tormented soul, even his life now is worth praying for. 

Death calls to say they're coming to visit and suddenly everyone sets out the good china and breaks out the nicest spread for dinner, hoping Death will say "Thank you for a lovely evening." and be on its merry way. 

"Abraham?" Chantal calls softly, arms held out as she approaches him. "I got your text. what were you thinking texting me when you're on the way here, how could you even concentrate?" she teases gently and that earns her the tiniest, tiniest smile as she folds her arms around him. "Any news?" she asks, a hand on his cheek, peering into his eyes.

"I don't know, I got here just in time to see them wheeling him down to surgery." he says, his voice hoarse and he swallows hard. "I'm scared, Chantal,"

She rubs his arm, nodding, "I know, I know," Because Chantal is not a stranger to the bond Abraham has with Crane, he'd spoken of him often. She knows about Eddie, she knows about the way Crane consumed his life. Knows that a loss like this could shatter Abraham, a man who throughout his entire life has refused to break. Has never hit despair or rock bottom. He has cried yes and he has hurt and mourned loved ones but he's never given up. But Chantal is frighteningly aware that if Crane doesn't make it, it's a very real possibility that Abraham will fall down and never get up. His eyes get a far away look in them and Chantal gives him a shake. "Hey. Hey look at me, don't you do that. Don't you go there Abraham, I won't allow it. He'll fight and pull through," she gazes at him a moment longer before surveying all of their faces. 

"Where's Abbie?"

"Went to the washroom. Who are you?" Jenny cuts in.

"A friend of Abraham's, you are?"

"Her sister," Jenny answers, fixing Chantal with a look of suspicion. Chantal smiles softly, extending her hand. Jenny stares down at it.

"Come on," Chantal wiggles her fingers. "We're going to find her,"

"Abbie likes to handle things alone,"

"Do you prefer to leave her alone right now? She might not want to talk, but she might not mind you being there either," Jenny reluctantly takes Chantal's hand and they head for the restroom. "Hello Luke," she greets as they pass.

In a stall Abbie sits on the toilet in deep thought. Of all things, between her sobs, her mind thinks it best NOW for her to rehearse all of the things she had meant to say, or thinks she meant to say to Ichabod Crane. How he'd hurt her. How she'd waited, blindly hopeful that he would try to make contact, how it had changed her. They aren't cruel things to mention, but they wouldn't have been kind. And certainly the last time she'd seen him was when she'd pinned him to pavement. Which now, given the present, she wishes she could tell past Abbie, do not harm this man, because he will know greater harm in the near future, he will fight for his life. 

But he is only fighting because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Only there because he was on his way to meet her on the steps outside the lecture hall at SHU. Where they'd met, the first time. 

A new horror decides then to creep in and nestle in her mind. Had she caused this? Had she doomed Ichabod the moment she'd decided to cling to this hurt? all of these years? Had she found the strength to let it go, to forgive him, might that day in the taxi have gone differently? would she have been less scathing and angry? Would he have left feeling grateful and humbled by forgiveness, and thus would feel no need to make it up to her? Would that day have been a singular instance and nothing more? He might have been home, on this day, instead, hearing about the robbery at the pawn shop, not tangled, fatally, up in it----

"Abbie?" Abbie watches as a pair of heels stride towards and then stop right in front of her stall. She holds her breath. "Abbie?" followed by a gentle rap on the door.

"go away."

"Abs?" that's Jenny's voice, so who the hell else was in here with her?---oh. 

"What's she doing here," she answers Jenny and she's too worked up to care how petulant she sounds right now. 

"Convinced me that you might want company. You don't have to talk, I'm just here." Jenny's voice is suddenly closer but Abbie feels stubborn. You weren't here when it counted, a horrible, horrible, part of her brain snaps. You RAN FOR THE HILLS when mama died and to hell with how I'd cope. And now I'm here, I'm HERE torn up over a man who hurt me, but only because I was trying to fill the gap that you left.

No.

Abbie shakes her head. No you cannot blame Jenny for this, you won't. You chose how to cope, you made those decisions. 

"Who came with you?" she knows, but she asks anyway. 

"Chantal," she answers. "Abbie? You don't know me very well,"

"I know nothing about you," she replies helpfully. 

Chantal clears her throat. "No. I suppose you don't. But I'm here for Abraham. And therefore I'm here for you too. Just like all those people out there are here because they love you, and want to be there for you. I think you've endured enough, soldiering on, on your own. Don't you think? I think you've kept enough people out trying to bulk up security on the inside. You don't have to talk, don't have to touch anyone, but, I'm asking you, for your sister, your friends out there, for Abe, come out of there and let these people love you. Let them be there like they need to be Abbie. They need it, that's why they're here, their soul cries for it, so let them Abbie. You don't have to be alone."

The silence stretches for so long that Chantal and Jenny exchange a worried glance before the lock on the stall clicks and the door swings open. Abbie just stands there, staring at Chantal. "Why do you care?"

Chantal bites her lip. She wishes she had a reason, it's just always been her way. To declare, 'it's just the way I am' sounds so self indulgent, true or not. So she gives her the other part, the version that won't grate on Abbie's nerves, as she can tell in the short space of time they've met, she has already begun to do. She has her vague suspicions of why of course----but she already promised herself not to step any further into that mess. "Because Orion and Abraham care about you, and I care about them, dearly." she takes the tiniest step forward. "And he needs you," she whispers, cursing herself. "You'll still be strong, if you go out there and bawl your eyes out. But you can't sit in here giving up on Crane," Abbie's brows shoot up and Chantal nods. "I know about Crane and what he means to Abraham. And I'm figuring there's a very close tie to you, too," her eyes search Abbie's and all Abbie dares to do at that moment is give a quick bob of her head in the affirmative. "Luke is out there too, they're here, Abbie. Don't sit in here fearful and alone. The nasty tricks fear will play on your mind, the despair it'll plunge you into and the heart ache it will inflict, fear just waits for you to be vulnerable so it can visit you with all the most hateful awful gifts---but if you're around people who love you, we can all chase those things away. Together." 

Abbie levels her eyes with Chantal's and Jenny's. Both regarding her with such concern. All of the unease she'd felt from meeting Chantal earlier today scurries from her mind. Whatever this woman's connection to Orion, Abraham, any of them, she doesn't mean me any harm. Won't wish any ill will on anyone. It's childish to dislike her because she's someone else Abraham knows---and why shouldn't he have friends? Especially her, who is opening her heart and being so unnecessarily kind after only just meeting her.

"I'm an only child," Chantal says. "None of my best friends are in the same place. I'd be lucky to have this many people by my side," her eyes twinkle with tears and Abbie understands that Chantal carries with her a loneliness. Not from grief, but from always wanting to connect and finding so few able to give back. An infinite heart that gives and gives, empties itself for others, but never gets filled. "Come on," she gestures for Abbie to step out of the stall and Abbie does, walks straight to Chantal and hugs her who makes a sound of surprise before hugging her back.

"Thank you," Abbie says as she steps back, wiping her eyes and straightening her jacket. 

Blinking and ruffled Chantal ducks in the mirror to fluff her hair, pretending that she wasn't vulnerable for a moment too. This isn't about you, Chantal, she admonishes, this is about Abbie, Abraham, and their wounded friend. Roll back those tears and put that heart of yours away. "For what?" she asks, her voice pitched too high. 

Abbie appears beside her in the mirror, rests a hand on her shoulder. "For being a Honey Bee,"

Chantal's jaw drops. "Abraham----?" but when she turns Abbie has already made her exit with Jenny's arms slung consolingly around her. Chantal takes an extra moment to get her self together.   
*************************  
Time is either moving very fast or very slow. Abbie at last brings herself to allow Luke to wrap his arms around her as she tries to explain what happened today. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing him?" he asks, stroking her hand.

"I didn't want to worry you, you're still mourning and---"

Luke grabs her chin, peers into her eyes. "No. Secrets." he says sternly. "Never again. All or nothing, all of you. I want to know. I'm not going anywhere. I'm a monument. Staying permanently put." 

A little ways off, Calvin, Nick and Jenny chat quietly about art and exhibits. Furthest away is Chantal next to Abraham at a vending machine as she buys him a ginger ale that he keeps refusing. "Come on Bear, don't be like that, it'll calm you down,"

"I can't stomach anything Chantal, I'll throw up," 

"Bear," she growls. For a second his eyes crinkle, but that's as close as he'll get to a smile. 

"You always did that when you wanted to get your way." he muses and Chantal sighs, forcing the can in his hand. "Where's Orion?"

"Who knows with him."

"Chantal,"

"Yeah?"

He opens the can and scrunches his brow. "Are you alright?"

She bristles. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean in general. It's been a really long time since I heard from you,"

"Married my work back in university, remember?"

"You married people and music was your concubine," he smirks as he takes a drink, and even though it's at her expense, it's something. 

She rolls her shoulders. "Yeah well, busy people don't….nest"

"Constant motion for you, eh. You haven't changed."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Abraham throws an arm around her shoulder. "Don't ever be sorry for being you, Chantal. Just…..Orion…."

"How did we get back to Orion?"

"You think I didn't see him glare at me when you hugged me this afternoon?"

"pfft, Orion's glare is his resting face," she replies and Abraham makes a strange sound. Her eyes slide over to him and she sees him doubling over with a hand over his mouth and his eyes scrunched tight. "Abraham?" she asks bending with him, "Are you okay? what's wr---" 

But then she realizes, he's laughing. It's a half stifled choked back thing because he doesn't want to make too much noise but that's his laugh. "Ssh!" she scolds him. "Abraham, stop it you're in a hospital!" she hisses but he only seems to laugh more until the sound begins heaving back into sobs. "oh Bear," she pats his back and leads him over to a chair. "He's going to be okay. Alright? doctor should be up soon" there's quiet in the waiting room except for when a nurse calls someone else back for treatment, but all other conversations have at last run out of words. They gravitate to where Chantal and Abraham are. Orion, who had been outside, grumbling to himself about stupid jealousy and whirlwinds, and a turncoat heart, drifts back in then and seats himself opposite Chantal. 

Suddenly Chantal straightens and extends her hands. "Let's pray," she says.

Abbie is shocked by the suggestion. She hasn't prayed in years. Not for lack of faith as much as lack of devotion, but she's a believer, and now seems just as good a time to open up a dialogue with the Lord Almighty as ever. She meets Abraham's gaze and they both nod, and then all of them join hands. 

****************************  
Ichabod strolls through the courtyard with the beautiful intricate wrought iron gate, up to the front door, that is wide open, and suddenly it's like the whole front of the house has been blown off, and he's standing just on the other side of a threshold into what he assumes is a family room. He blinks rapidly at the figure seated by the window, with her hair so red and her countenance so peaceful as she calmly reads and in his utter disbelief he steps toward her.

"Don't come any closer," she intones, licking her finger she delicately turns the page. 

"Katri----?" Ichabod takes another step but she stops him again. 

"I said don't come any close or you'll cross," she sighs with exasperation and marks her page, putting the book aside. 

"cross?" Ichabod looks down at himself, and then over at her, in the room that he realizes now is too bright, glowing. "I'm not dead?"

"not yet," she replies and she sounds annoyed.

"I thought after all I've put you through, you would be glad to see me dead,"

Katrina purses her lips, folding her hands in her lap, crosses her legs. It's astonishing how beautiful and healthy she is here, how she shines from within. He feels a pang of guilt. He'd dimmed that light in her life. Snuffed it out. "Considering the amount of unrest you caused me, Ichabod. You'll understand that I am in no great hurry for you to join me here. I rather like my peace and quiet and plates and glasses that go years---would you believe that? whole YEARS---without being shattered," she quips. "Besides, it's not your time,"

"What is this place." he asks slowly. 

Katrina narrows her eyes at him. "You know where this is, Ichabod. you've read my letter. "

"Did you visit me or did I dream it?"

"Take pains to torment you? seems hardly my style," she sniffs, but Ichabod doubts it. This Katrina has more…..flavour, than the one he knew. As if reading his thoughts Katrina suddenly smiles.

"You seem, changed,"

"Being free of your former burdens and pains, can be transforming, speaking of which," 

"You 'transformed' my daughter, Ichabod Crane." a new voice enters, warm, resonant and he eyes the woman who has just strolled into the room. He's never met her but there is something unmistakably Mills-like about her face. 

"Mother Mills," he bows.

"Hmmph. Mother Mills indeed," Lori muses. "You left her in a time of need, coward of a man. But there is wrong on all sides. Abbie shouldn't have tried to fill the wholes in her life with you. Jenny was wrong too, running off like that. Raised them to stick together, but, grief makes you forget. Makes you lose sight of the things you knew. Like my Abbie. Lost sight of herself when she lost that baby…been trying to get herself right ever since. Don't you set foot in this room before you make amends with my daughter." Lori warns, but her face, even though her words were scolding, her face is full of kindness and an otherworldly wisdom. 

"Abraham needs you too," chimes another voice. A child steps forward, young, blond, and the similarity, it hurts, it makes his being clench, if only Abraham could be here.

"Edward?" he calls.

"Eddie," the boy corrects. There's a little orb of light hovering on his shoulder, and just beyond Eddie are Mr. and Mrs. Van Brunt. "Abraham loves you like a brother,"

"You have been an anchor in our sons life," the Van Brunts agree. "And he needs you,"

"They both need you," Katrina says, catching the soft light that floats from Eddie's shoulder over to her, and then passes it to Lori who twirls it gently on her finger before cupping it in her hands. 

"Yours," she offers by way of explanation when Ichabod gapes at it. "Yours and my daughters. Barely formed and just as quickly lost, came here to me and hasn't left my side since." 

"You have to go back," Eddie says. 

Lori nods. 

A pain suddenly strikes Ichabod and he wavers, staggering backward, doubling over in agony. 

"Ichabod?" Katrina suddenly rises from her seat, her peaceful expression at last fracturing. "No, no no, don't come here, go back, Ichabod, you must go back,"

"I can't," he gasps as another wave of pain strikes him, when he looks down he can see the blood blossoming on his chest. 

Lori shakes her head. "Not your time Crane, go back,"

"And do what!" he screams, falling to his knees.

And then they all answer. "Set them free,"

"Go back Ichabod,"

"Not your time,"

"They love you,"

"They need you,"

"Go back Ichabod,"

"Things to finish,"

"They need you,"

"Wake up Ichabod,"

"Abraham needs you,"

"Wake up Ichabod,"

"Abbie needs you,"

"Wake up, Ichabod,"

"Wake up,"

"Wake up,"

"Go back,"

"WAKE UP"

*********************

Ichabod blinks his eyes open in the hospital bed. Everything hurts. His eye, his nose, to breathe---ah--he hisses with the effort of it. He can just barely make out Abbie and Abraham slumped over one another in the corner of the room, heads knitted together with a blanket draped over them. A face suddenly looms above him, an unfamiliar but beautiful face. She smiles at him.

He tries to speak but she shakes her head. 

"No you rest. I'm going to wake them in a second, alright? but take a moment to yourself, okay? They've been worried sick. They're going to be so relieved," 

His eyes ask the question that she won't let him voice for himself. 

"Name's Chantal, a friend of Abrahams. Oh I know he's never mentioned me, I'm not fussed by it. But it's a pleasure to meet you at last, Ichabod Crane," Chantal sits back in her seat and yawns. "Told them you'd pull through, never doubted it." she gets up and strides to the window, drawing the curtains just enough for light to flow in, bathing Abbie and Abraham in its early glow. Abraham begins to shift. 

She approaches them slowly, gently shakes their shoulders, but they still spring to life anyway, arms flailing and eyes wide and leaping to their feet. "Easy," Chantal says, making calming motions to them, she glances over her shoulder toward the bed. 

"Chantal?" Abraham asks, taking one slow step after another.

"Is he?" Abbie wonders, her eyes are so red and tired. 

Chantal takes both of their hands and guides them over to his bedside. They don't bother to stop the tears running down their faces, Chantal has to restrain them from throwing themselves on the bed with him in their relieved joy. Her voice is a happy whisper in their ears, reaffirming what they see with their eyes. 

"He's awake!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you a million times for reading, it's so worth it to read your comments! they encourage and inspire me beyond words! you have no idea, I'm so excited to continue this, because if I do this right, the rest is going to be fun, and hopefully heartwarming too.


	48. While You Slept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shows a moment when they were visiting Crane before he'd woken up, and then after he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff?
> 
> angst and fluff?
> 
> oh, and it's short. My apologies.
> 
> new chapter coming hopefully by wednesday. 
> 
> you guys rock. honestly. <3 grateful for you all as readers.

No sooner had they finished praying than a nurse had come over and alerted them that Ichabod had been moved to a room. "He lost a lot of blood, but he made it through the operation. Barring any further complications, he should make it. He's out now and can't talk. But you can come up and see him," 

Abbie and Abraham had bumped into each other in their haste to follow the nurse with Luke hurrying to catch up, capturing Abbie's hand in his. Abraham glimpsed out the corner of his eye as they followed, and made a pointed effort to disregard the discomfort he felt seeing Abbie's hand anywhere else but his own. 

You've got issues, Abraham, his mind kindly taunted him. 

Jenny and Nick followed, Chantal and Orion bringing up the rear, each allowed in the room in pairs. Calvin had gone in with Orion and Chantal. Abbie went in with Luke first, seeing as Abraham opted to go last, needed some time to collect his thoughts while the others went in. Chantal squeezed his shoulder on her way out. "All things considered, still a handsome man, he's going to be fine," she whispers and Abraham smiles up at her gratefully before she takes a seat with Jenny and Abbie. Abraham stands, gets pat on the back by Nick, Luke, and Orion gives a solitary nod as he goes in. 

His stomach drops with the familiarity of being here before. Crane in a hospital bed. Him with his heart in his throat and wondering if his best friend will survive. He's angry at him. All of your life, he thinks. All of your life Ichabod Crane you have been uncontrollable, self absorbed, unruly, fickle, and a COWARD bless every formerly long groomed hair on your head, what devil possessed you to be a HERO today? He'd scream if Ichabod were awake. If Crane was sitting up in the bed and watching him with scornful eyes, oh, he'd let him have it. 

Years of being afraid of yourself, battling to control that….thing….that you unleash on unfortunate occasions, much to the detriment of others, and TODAY you decide to use it for good. TODAY is when you bloody well decide to---to--- "Damn you Ichabod," he chokes as he approaches his bed side. "Damn you damn you damn you. When you're better I'm going to murder you for putting me through this again. I love you, you, NUMBSKULL. you're the only family I have and yet you're always finding some clever way to undermine basic survival," he reaches over the bar, takes Crane's hand up in his, relieved, releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding to feel that it's warm. His eyes scan Ichabod's face. Pale, bruised. Nothing broken it doesn't look like though, his newly shorn hair clings to his forehead, "Nice hair cut." he sneers and imagines Ichabod would glare at him and straighten the collar of his coat at the remark. "Just do me a favour, will you? I know it's a lot of me to ask. But can you try, maybe, to outlive me? I don't think I can survive another hospital tete a tete with you Ichabod, I don't. It's about time someone else worried around here, don't you think?" he bows his head and let's tears flow. Are they grief? are they relief that Ichabod has at least come through surgery? he doesn't know. He's exhausted. "I need my brother," he manages at last. "I need you, damning, Ichabod, Crane. I need you, not to take the place of Eddie, not to fill a gap, if…..if I ever made you feel like a substitute Ichabod----" and the words fail him, he cries openly. "If I ever, made you, made you stand in the shadow of Edward, Ichabod, I'm so, so, sorry," he sobs, his body wracking with the emotion of it, fighting so hard to keep his unravelling quiet. "You have always been my friend, my brother, the one singular Ichabod Crane. For all your faults, my world is better with you in it," he bites out and then lets the tide wash over him until he is shuddering in silence. 

"You're a strong man," 

Abraham glances over his shoulder, makes no move to wipe his eyes or straighten his posture as Abbie joins him bedside. " Strong? look at me. This is how many times you've seen me cry?"

"And yet you're stronger every time," she assures him. "Besides, being there for you is the least I can do after you've been there for me,"

"Has it occurred to you that it's all tied to Ichabod?" he wonders softly. "What do we have, without him?" 

"Us?" Abbie asks. "You think if---"

"That had things not gone so wrong between you, we wouldn't….have anything in common,"

"I might not have music," Abbie concedes, considering. Allowing herself for the first time, ever, to contemplate if Crane had stayed. 

"I think he'd have married you" he nods, looking at his friend and then at her. "I'd come to Sleepy Hollow the year after, be best man at your wedding. Play for it too, probably,"

"No matter how we spin this you're playing my wedding, aren't you," she teases gently, reaching for Crane's hand herself, marvelling that her skin doesn't crawl the way it did that day, so long ago now, in the cab. 

"What else would I do?" 

"Get married yourself?" Abbie suggests with her eyes twinkling. "All those years and there wasn't anyone? No secret by now that I dated after Crane. Never worked out though,"

"Until Luke," he interjects, it suddenly seems very important that he remind Abbie about Luke. 

Abbie pauses, reaching into her pocket for the box the paramedics gave her. In all the excitement she hadn't even remembered to tell him she'd recovered the engagement ring. That he had shot the man retrieving his token of love. She cracks the box silently and stares at the ring, shimmering and lovely, even in dim light. Abraham looks at it.   
"Until Luke," she says at last.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs and Abbie hands the box over to him so he can examine it better. There's something vaguely familiar about the cut, he'd say it resembles the ring Ichabod gave Katrina if he didn't known any better. He almost turns to ask Ichabod himself but is reminded by his shuttered eyes and the beeping machinery, that now is not the time to attempt rousing his friend for this vague inquiry. "Lovely," he says again, shirking the bizarre, tangent, thought and without thinking reaches for Abbie's left hand. She doesn't even think to protest as he slides it gingerly on her finger. 

A ridiculous fluttering kicks up in Abbie's chest. Absurd, because look where they damn well are. In this damn hospital room with freaking he ruined my life Ichabod Crane, she thinks. Who was shot today--the damn man was shot today while stopping a robbery by your fiancee, this is your FIANCEES RING that Abraham just slid on your damn finger Abbie, and here the two of you are, worrying and consoling and comforting each other over Crane because like it or not this man has taken up residence in both of your hearts and you can't be, in the midst of this turmoil, this utter and complete mess, fluttering over Abra----a door slams so hard in Abbie's mind she winces. 

It's illogical.

it's obscene. 

What were they talking about?

"It's loose isn't it?" Abraham asks, spinning it around her finger, instantly snapping her back to reality. 

"It's why I lost it in the first place," she says, disengaging herself. 

Abraham sighs and sits back in the chair. "You'd have the baby," he continues, seamlessly picking up the earlier conversation. "Maybe you'd have more after that. Three? maybe a set of twins," he grins and locks eyes with her. "They'd be beautiful. and I'd be Uncle Abe, I'd have them singing before they could talk," he chuckles to himself. "But then one day, one day they'd hear their mother singing in the kitchen. And they'd say, 'mama'" and he makes his voice small here, and Abbie cracks a small smile, envisioning this quaint little alternate life, so far fetched from reality, so impossible for who they are now. "Mama, how come you didn't become a singer?' and you'd say--"

"Guess I was afraid" 

Abraham watches her carefully."and they'd ask 'of what' and you'd say---"

"I don't know," Abbie finishes solemnly. "I don't know, I just was." her gaze flicks up to meet Abraham's "I am."

Tentative footsteps draw their attention to Chantal tip toeing into the room with a blanket in hand. "Oh," she startles. "I told the nurse I thought you'd fallen asleep, so she brought you this," she crosses the expanse of the room in quick long strides. "It's late. let's move these chairs a bit so you don't face plant into the bars on Crane's bed," she suggests and they shuffle the chairs back to the wall and then, and they're both amused by it, Chantal tucks them in. Throws the blanket over them and right up under their chins and smooths it down over them and Abbie is sure she's about to peck them both on the forehead before she leans back and looks them over. "You two sleep. I nodded off for a bit earlier, I'll sit and watch Crane, let you know if anything changes," 

"Thank you," they answer in tandem and Chantal passes her gaze over them again, assessing, before she takes up her post. 

"Sleep," she instructs. "The others are in the waiting room," 

It's as if she's whispered a spell. Sleep descends on them both so swiftly, there isn't even a moment to register, before eyelids flutter shut, and breath evens out into slumber, which one of them reached for the others hand beneath the blanket, first.   
************************  
"Thank you," Abbie whispers as Chantal leaves the room. Chantal quirks her mouth, turns her eyes upward and shakes her head.

"Don't thank me, Abbie," and makes her quiet exit. 

Ichabod expected many things when he would see Abbie again. Unfortunately tears was among them. However these tears, these tears being shed for him is dangerously touching to him, enough that he might excite some malevolent biological process and relegate him to darkness once more. And Abraham. 

I saw Eddie. He wants to say. He looked well, very well, he was with your parents, and Katrina, and Abbie's mother, and they were all beautiful Abraham, whole and happy and healthy and in this great house, this beautiful place full of---his coat. Where's my coat? 

There's a spike on the monitor and Abraham glances at it in alarm before hollering for a nurse who comes in to check his vitals and tries to calm him down but Crane's mind is overly preoccupied with the whereabouts of his coat. There are important things in there and---

"Ichabod please stop," Abraham frets, his eyes pleading with him to calm down, if he can, don't thrash. "Please, we're all here, look Abbie's here,"

Abbie smiles at him.

He never hoped Abbie would deign to smile at him again and that's soothing enough, just a little for the monitor to stop it's erratic jumping across the screen and to level out. "There," Abraham says. "You'll be all right, take your time," he says softly.

You look dreadful. Ichabod thinks sorrowfully. But you have never been a more welcome face. 

"your things are here too," he adds helpfully. " Washed them, because they were bloody, but they found some papers---"

The monitor spikes again. 

"And they're nice and dry, brought them all back up in an envelope," Abraham adds in a rush, grateful when his heart rate returns to normal. "They're important, aren't they," he asks and Ichabod prays that the look he gives him says it all. 

"Well whatever they are, they're safe" Abbie says, looking down kindly at him. "I'm still mad at you. This isn't over, not by a long shot. When you're out of this bed I'm going to give you every single piece of my mind. But I'm glad you're okay,"

I share the sentiment, Ichabod muses inwardly, and musters his best approximation of a smile.

Moments later he is surrounded by familiar and non familiar faces, silent, welcoming, warm faces.


	49. Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things. 
> 
> Hospital moments, sorting out some logistics regarding the talent show. Chantal introspection with some Orion parts.

Those who don't know Ichabod Crane, nor do they understand the connection to Abbie, Orion and Calvin, for example, cannot be bothered to ask. They'll spare Abbie the explanations at this point and time. All that matters, all that is evident, is that he matters to her. And that there is a sort of strange bonding going on around this man's hospital bed. They are all tied to Abbie and Abraham if not both, and by extension find themselves concerned with Ichabod Crane, who unknown to them has been a phantom in their lives for years.

He haunted Abbie's music and tormented Orion when she locked her voice up tight. 

He held Abbie hostage, taking her heart at knife point during the night of the Captive shoot at Calvin's. 

He had managed to weave himself into Luke's impending nuptials through the trace amounts of his old wedding rings, the diamond that the jeweller had kept for it's beautiful design. 

He took the essence of Abbie, like a thief in the night, leaving a changed woman behind when Jenny came back home. 

Tainted her ideas of closeness and friendship, holding her at bay from Andy.

He is the spider that spun a web that caught all of them, the unsuspecting insects.

They have all been standing in the shadow he had cast

Wandering the vacant halls of an abandoned house. 

But now, they are jagged little fragments trying to fit together, they are the pieces that you rifle through in the puzzle, looking for that one last patch of blue sky. That's what they are all doing now, as their paths converge, as they shed each other in new light. 

They are searching for that blue sky.

Something whole.   
**********************  
Luke had volunteered to perform a breakfast run, "Abbie?" he'd called, and she slept by Crane's bedside night before, huddled up beneath a blanket with Abraham, which Luke doesn't know, having dozed off earlier in the waiting room. She can be apart from these men for, ten, twenty minutes? She's marrying the man after all. She gives a quick nod and strides out with him, marching a brisk pace ahead and they get in his squad car and drive to the nearest starbucks in odd silence. 

"So that's him," he says at last once they're pulling out of overnight parking.

"Yep,"

"He's the one you---"

"Yep" she cuts him off brusquely.

"Abbie," he persists. "I," he pauses and swallows, concentrating on the road. "Do you still---"

"Found the ring," she says, dragging her hand lightly through her hair. 

"Where'd you----"

"Thief stole it from the pawnshop. Crane had it. Before you shot him," and she doesn't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does, but it's biting all the same and she apologizes immediately afterward. "I don't mean to blame you," she says. "You did your job. You were doing your damn job Morales, and that's what you do, no matter how you joke around or how full of yourself you can be---"

"Hey"

She smiles. "You get the job done. You follow protocol. You're reliable, predictable, low risk, dependable and safe. I value that."

"Technically that should be in an evidence drawer," he points out, glancing at the ring glinting on her hand. "would you still admire me if I took it in to the station?"

"After all we went through to get it back?" she raises a brow at him and he flashes her his white charming smile. It's a great smile, really, a little cocksure, but confident. Like he knows you'll learn to like him, that he'll get on your damn nerves first, but eventually, you'll trust him, that he'll find a chink in your amour and one day you'll wake up in his bed. 

Abbie remembers the first time she slept with Luke. They hadn't been drunk. They'd been seeing each other for a month and half by then, actually. He'd decided he'd cook her dinner. She'd shown up in a strappy navy blue dress, a flowing thing, stopped below her knees, moved if she twirled. She never twirled, but that night, after dinner, Luke had found some purpose for music and he'd turned on the radio, had dragged her when she protested and they danced to whatever had come on before they were just there, swaying, completely out of sync with the music, and Abbie had struggled not to hum, not to sing, scared of well would open up if she did. She'd kissed him, he'd brushed her sleek hair back, murmured that he never thought he'd see the day that he would be holding Lieutenant Abigail Stone Wall Mills in his arms. 

"Shut up," she'd whispered, eyes twinkling. 

And the next morning there she was. Her first instinct had been she'd made a gross mistake crossing the line of professionalism this far. Thought for sure that Luke had only seen her as some sort of challenge, a wall to climb, something to conquer.

She'd been so……overwhelmed, when he'd persisted. Until there she was telling him yes, I'll marry you. The months had passed in a sort of blur. She'd pinched herself when she saw him every day, this man determined to stay put, to weigh anchor and build a life with her, and it was all Abbie had ever wanted, truly, that security. 

But her skin itches when she thinks of it now. 

Her heart hammers and the walls of this small little car, even now, feel like they're closing in. 

Just jitters, she tells herself, the wedding is next week, it's normal. 

But given her conflicted swirl of emotions regarding Crane and the time she's spent with Abraham---and that's the problem right there, she rationalizes. You've been spending too much time at work, with other people, 'finding yourself'--but that's what Luke told you to do--- and planning things and even Minerva's funeral had put a strain on their relationship, dividing them and then slamming them together again in mourning, and now this incident with Crane, it's a mess, and she hasn't had time with Luke. That's the real issue, she needs a moment to truly reconnect with him and erase all doubts. 

Like the last time? After Orion knocked him out? Abbie wishes she had a quieter mind. 

"I'm just kidding Abbie, you keep it on. Although, I might try to take it to a jeweller to actually get it sized now?" he looks at her pointedly and in that moment Abbie decides to try. She's going to talk to Crane still, because she needs that, but after that Abbie is going to commit herself to this relationship as if it was a job. Abbie has never done anything half assed. She's not about to start now.   
************************  
At the hospital Chantal steps out of the room to give the others some space. Calvin meanders further down the hall, reading the names on the plaques of doctors and donors. She's leaning on a window, taking some deep breaths.

When Chantal agreed to do Orion's show, she hadn't planned for any of this. Had expected the funeral call, to see Abraham again, to be here at the hospital. She has regretted none of it, she'd do it all again, because you can set a clock by Chantal's ability to show up in the nick of time. But she's tired. 

She's exhausted.

She's done. 

Her show is opening soon and she's still got one last rewrite to finish and she's stressed enough to blow steam, but she's also always worked well under pressure. She spent enough late nights writing essays the night before to figure that out the painful, hard way. But it works for her. The hotter the room, the more she sweats, the harder she works to crank stuff out. And it wrings her out. Writing characters and narratives and music that suits them and themes. She gets plenty involved in fictitious lives she creates, much less real ones. Because here's the trick with writing a script and their unique journey, you know how it'll turn out. You lay your start and end, figure it out along the way, but you leave the audience guessing, never giving too much away while you smirk at their reactions, self satisfied and proud of the story you've woven. But with people, it's different. You don't always have all the answers when things get complex in the realm of reality. You can't plot it out, and while that's half the thrill of living----Chantal wouldn't mind something mildly resembling structure right now. 

She'd told Abraham busy people don't have time to nest. And it's half true, she's at a decent point in her career right now that setting up shop in any one place would feel like a weight dragging behind her. She loves her freedom, loves that she's accountable to know one but herself, she can take up projects, start new ones, get as involved in others lives or retreat into herself for months if she likes. Yet, she wouldn't mind if there was a 'home base' so to speak. A resource she could turn to, when a rehearsal was particularly disastrous or she read a bad review. When she had a mental block and couldn't get that one string line right. If she hadn't heard back from a publisher about her last score, Chantal could wind herself up so tight that when she snapped, she just wouldn't write for days. 

And some might say, well why don't you just go home, back to the winters you loved and your small family. But the dream was here. The dream came true here, when she finally started getting paid for her work and someone believed in her vision enough to mount a production and choirs wanted to sing her work. When she could rightfully walk off of the draining job in retail and call herself a composer by right. She'd travelled for her dreams only to find there wasn't anyone around as often as she'd like to enjoy them with her. No siblings to celebrate with. Friends scattered all over the globe and similarly caught up in their jobs to make the journey. No one to make her get out of her own over analyzing head when she got stuck on that one passage, playing it over and over and over again and still not figuring out what's wrong, only knowing it wasn't right. 

It wasn't easy being in a classical music program. Not easy being a black classically trained vocalist and not easy being a female composer, and not easy being both. You stuck out. She'd had people look at her strange for her major, because, obviously, vocalists can't do theory. "Why aren't you in performance," they'd ask, and she'd be so irritated, deep down. Why, she wanted to ask, be one in a million sopranos? Desperately hoping that in some dream world I'd be right for a role 'traditionally' cast white? Oh, she knew there were trailblazers, women who made it, and they made history for it, and she could fight and be part of that lineage, but she was blazing her own trail. Figuring out her own damn unique path that her parents had encouraged her in, but never understood, that had always earned her second glances and the heavy weighted gaze of scrutiny but she smiled. She smiled and persevered and pretended that it didn't damning well matter. She took every opportunity, whether she grasped it or not. It's not lost on Chantal that sometimes people had viewed her as a cute pet project. "This young woman, yes, she's black," like an exotic thing, in this day and age, but she didn't care, doesn't now. Will not let those things dampen her spirits because she's finally here. She is living her dream. 

Though, she could really use a nap.

But that's besides the point. She's making a living in music. 

Yet she wishes there was someone who could be just as zonked in her profession as she gets. Someone who will laugh and order chinese and sing show tunes at odd hours of the night after a long rehearsal because they've over tired but too wired to go to bed like sensible people. Someone who wasn't always phone calls and miles and miles away----She'd tried to get her parents to move and to no avail "Too old to learn a new place" they said----

Who might tell her congrats, waiting with a bouquet after a premiere. 

It's such a cliche.

But she's lonely. 

Has been, for as long as she can remember. 

"Tally?" she jumps and looks over her shoulder.

"hey,"

"I hate to bring this up," Orion says as he joins her at the window, hands in his pockets. 

"But---" she implores.

"We've…..we've still," he shuffles his feet and avoids her eyes and it irritates her. Orion is not usually indecisive, doesn't play nervous. Ha! Orion? NERVOUS? oh to see the day! 

"On with it Orion," she snaps and his gaze flicks to her. 

"The show," he winces. He feels like a jerk, he knows this is horrible timing but they still have a show, work, talent, contracts and viewers and time slots to work with and they can't spend all day here. They've got to get back to coaching, run throughs, believe it or not, but they go on air tonight. And Abraham is still there talking to his friend and Abbie is his head of security and frankly, everyone wrapped up over that man, Ichabod Crank? no, no, Crane, are tied up very implicitly in his show. "We air tonight. eight o'clock, you haven't even rehearsed with the other two acts, and Abraham's in there----"

Chantal screws her mouth shut, blinks rapidly and then turns on him with a smile. She's always been good at that, he thinks. If he left her alone for a minute she might just have a breakdown and be done with it, but not Chantal. She can divide work and personal life like she's parting the damn red sea. "We're going to miss breakfast," she jokes, checking her watch. 

"They don't need much work at this point I don't think. I can coach them through their covers, but broadway is really your line of expertise," he offers. "You can come back here and keep Abraham company afterwards, maybe, maybe I can pull some strings and get a camera in here, there's a sanctuary here isn't there? maybe Abraham can perform there, for the patients or staff even, or in the hospital caf, so he doesn't have to leave his friend's bedside. Otherwise, if he can't perform, I have to disqualify him. I don't wanna do that, I think he has a real shot at this. And he's your friend," 

Chantal has already grabbed her bag and begun leading the way back down the hall when she casts a smile over her shoulder. "Well what do ya know," she smirks as she pushes the elevator button. "You've got something resembling a heart,"  
************************  
Abraham's phone buzzes while he's reminiscing childhood with Ichabod, who looks at him appreciatively for being such a stalwart friend. He doesn't think Abraham has even left to pee. It's from Chantal.

"Going back to the station with Orion. Sorry I didn't say bye, didn't want to interrupt. Got coaching to do. We're live tonight. Did you forget that? because I sure did. Orion is going to try and work something out though so maybe you won't have to leave Crane. Keep me posted," 

Crane looks at him quizzically. "Chantal," he explains. The expression persists. "I know I never mentioned her but you never mentioned Abbie either. Ten years Ichabod and you never said boo about a woman in your life." he sighs and leans back in the chair. "Things between Chantal and I weren't like that, anyway. She mentored me first year, and we became really good friends….I had feelings, but they were one sided. She made me call you when I didn't want to. Told me 'hang on to him Abraham. You need him just as much as he needs you' and she was right. I always knew she was. But last night, if you ever scare me like that again, so help me,"

"I'm sorry," he rasps, and Abraham's eyes widen. "I----" he begins coughing and Abraham gives him water. 

"Don't bother Ichabod, don't bother. Just keep living and we're even". 

Just then Abbie and Luke return, there's a commotion in the hall of Jenny and Hawley snagging their coffees and donuts. "Where's Chantal?" Luke asks as he strolls into the room, the others following, holding a coffee and bagel in one hand. 

Abbie is in a similar situation. "And Orion?"

"They left, I completely forgot we go live tonight." Abraham explains.

"Oh that stupid show," Abbie claps a hand to her forehead and then looks to Abraham. "Sorry, you're on it---"

"No, I agree. In the midst of everything to worry about a talent show."

"But if you win, it'll change your life," Jenny supplies, sipping her coffee. 

"Orion's no slouch either," Abbie concedes. "IF you win, he'll set you up right----but it feels---"

"Wrong to go dream chasing when my best friend was shot last night," he hisses, exasperated. Abbie grips his hand. 

"Knowing Crane," and she shudders, because boy does she know Crane, "He'd want you to take every chance you get. He's as invested in your aspirations as you are." 

Abraham shakes his head. "It doesn't feel right,"

"Don't." Ichabod strains. "Don't you dare." he grimaces and goes silent for what feels like eons as all of the others edge closer to the bed to hear what Ichabod is trying to say. "Miss. This." Jenny grabs the cup and offers him another sip of water. It's a marvel she used these hands to slug him the other day and now she's caring for him with them. "Chance,"

"Ichabod, don't speak," Abraham pleads. He shakes his head. 

"Because. o--" another hiss, some more deep breaths. "Me,"

Abraham stands there, dumbfounded. Jenny looks up from Crane who gives a small encouraging smile. 

"There you have it Abe. The man wants you to sing," 

*************************  
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow shouldn't be that painful," Chantal grumbles to herself as she ducks into her office and pops an aspirin, massaging her temples when the door opens and she jolts. "Can you please stop sneaking up on me its irksome," she addresses Orion as he sidles----since when does he sidle?---into the room. "Well, what do you want," she asks as she sits down at her desk. 

"I never told you yesterday. You were wonderful with Macey,"

"She's a natural. Got a bright soul, it just pours right through. She can go far if she wins."

"I don't doubt that."

He crosses the room and plunks a cup of tea in front of her, as well as a sandwich. "Breakfast,"

She ticks her gaze up at him but he's suddenly found the wall very intriguing. "You sick or something?" she asks, accepting the cup and taking an experimental sip. Peppermint. Not too sweet. Enough milk. 

"I can take it back ," he offers and Chantal shakes her head bemusedly. He thinks she hasn't noticed, but Orion seems to be walking shaky ground since seeing Abbie at the hospital with Luke. 

"So that's the man she's marrying huh." she begins off handedly. "You know his grandmother died? Literally played the funeral right before coming down here. Lovely service. Nice guy. Congrats on not picking a fight with him."

"It hardly seems worth the effort," he hisses, taking a seat opposite her. 

She smirks over the rim of her mug. "You waving the white flag, Angel?" she shouldn't rile him up, she knows better, Orion can be devastatingly vindictive, but there's something entertaining too, about watching Orion set fire to his own life. 

This might be the most mean spirited thing about Chantal; the joy she gets from saying 'I told you so'. Knowing when he screws up, he's gonna turn to her. She's only this way with him, snarky and biting because to be any other way she's sure he would eat her alive. If Orion had any inkling of how soft and over flowing she could really be, no doubt he'd drain her dry before he got bored and went back to his mixing boards. She's seen the way he is with talent that doesn't want to bend, the way he pushes and prods until he pulls the depths out of them---brilliant music, no tears in the booth---but it's draining. Seen the way he's been with Abbie that fled him at every turn---his split decision making and a kindness that's almost slick if not deadly. He's persistent and voracious and heaven help her if he knew she wasn't really the fighting type. So she's mean as she can get with Orion. And she kind of likes it too, if she's being honest. Throwing jabs at his ego comes with it's own special brand of enjoyment. 

"Au contraire," he says and Chantal's eyes twinkle. He's spoiled and mischievous and he's going to hurt her one day, she's sure of it. Oh, he won't mean it, he'll be terribly sorry, he'll try to make it up to her and by then it might be too late, but there's still something that will always be fascinating about this man who refuses to stand down. Like watching a train wreck. It's horrible, but you can't look away. The blaze is too bright. "You won't believe who just texted, me,"

This ought to be good, she thinks and she settles in for the tale, but Orion isn't sharing, he grins at her as if he knows he has her baited and then casually rises from the seat and heads for the door. "I got a green light for the hospital, by the way,"

She coughs politely when her tea goes down the wrong way. "Which wheel did you grease to pull that off?"

"Don't you know me by now, Tally?" he winks. "I'm capable of anything,"


	50. Good Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up with show night, streaming from the hospital. 
> 
> Behind the scenes of earlier in the day.
> 
> Luke is well meaning, and this might have been a stupid idea, because, well, you'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote man, I had this part planned but getting to it was a little tricky, so I hope you can follow it still! full steam ahead!

"And that was Macey Irving performing "Someone Like You" from Jekyll and Hyde and also by the same name, "Someone Like You by Adele," Next up we're going to Sleepy Hollow Hospital guys with Abraham Van Brunt, Abe's friend was in a horrible accident and can't leave his friends side, so they're joining us in the Sanctuary with patients and staff, over to you!" Axel Waters proclaims and Abbie watches the footage from the security control room. Jenny and Nick are at the hospital with Crane, watching on a screen they wired up for the performance, not wanting to disturb Crane with wheeling him downstairs. Chantal and Abraham are standing outside the sanctuary. 

She'd gotten back to the hospital with time to coach Abraham and help set up for broadcast from the station, had helped wheel down patients and chatted with them until they were ready to go live. "Don't clip that phrase," she scolds and he rolls his eyes. "Hey, you're going out there as a product of my coaching tonight you're not gonna sing bloody RENT under MY tutelage and screw up an iconic song. You'll ruin me," she grins as she straightens his collar, fussing with him like a mother at a pageant. "And Unchained Melody is gorgeous as is, when you hit that "I need your love, oh," she puts a hand to her chest. "I melt. I swoon. Just make sure the viewers feel it the way I do, and you're set," 

"You? swoon?" Abraham jeers. "Not over me, surely. You've got melodies and harmonies in your veins," 

"Yeah yeah, music is my first love. Heard it before. Just sing that song like you mean it. Like you're in love, new love, something you're so desperate for but can barely, scarcely dare speak it," she pauses as she flicks his hair and picks lint off his shoulder. "What's going on with you and Abbie?" she asks as she walks around him, making sure he looks presentable.

"What?"

"I saw you two in there last night. Saw you two when you were all singing Seasons of Love in the practice room. You know Orion's in love with her. Has been for years, always told me he could never get Abbie to sing for him again, but there you were. Perfect harmony. And that's not the first time, is it? Orion's scout night, you sang together then too,"

"How do you---"

"Caught on tv that night." she nods and begins walking him down the aisle towards the front where they have a stool and mic set up. "Which reminds me," she continues and Abraham's head is still spinning, "did you tell her about the Honey Bee nickname?"

"Yes…."

"How did that come about?"

"We went wedding cake shopping on my birthday and---" Chantal cracks up, right then and there, because that sentence is the silliest thing she's ever heard. 

"Wedding cake shopping," she snickers as she adjusts the mic for him. "On your birthday,"

"The owner, Gertrude, who prefers to be called Gertie---stop laughing you're making me nervous! She assumed we were a couple and we played along, and I called her a honey bee, and when you showed up, it just came out and stop laughing!" but Chantal can't stop chortling to herself, shaking her head as she runs over to the cameraman to check the angle they have of Abraham on the stage and doing one last quick sound check before Axel switches over to them. 

"Think of Abbie," she whispers, pretending once more to adjust his stand. 

"What?" he rasps.

"For the songs," she insists, but the glint in her eyes tells him the wheels are turning in her head, and he's not sure he likes it. "Don't over complicate this right now Abraham, they're love songs, she's the closest woman in your life right now, ah. No. Your eyes sparkle when you talk about her. Your eyes never even sparkled when you had a crush on me. Anyway, make it feel authentic, get into character."

"Chantal---"

Axel Water's voice cuts into the room "Joining us in the Sanctuary with patients and staff over to you!" 

Against his better judgment he uses Chantal's advice.

He thinks of Abbie. 

He sings.  
**************************  
Abbie is alone in the security room, eyes glued to the screen. She can't help but feel she's in the wrong place, again. This is week two and once more she's not even in the same building as Abraham when he performs. She's not there to give him a pep talk, to embrace him when he gets off the stage and tell him how wonderful he was. It bothers her that she isn't able to support him right now. She wishes she hadn't gotten roped into this. That she could have been sitting front row and watching him on stage, howling enthusiastically when he took the stage and screaming wildly when he strolled off. 

But he's nailing it. 

He's looking into that camera and she can feel the words, feel the soul in his voice. She'd almost think he was singing directly to her. 

Which is a dangerous thought to have, don't have it, turn it off----

No. A dull thud. The tail of the creature lazily batts its tail at the cage bars. You're alone here. Don't hold your self back, I won't tell anyone, you can have this, just this once. Enjoy it. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. But have this, Lord knows, Luke can't sing. You'll never have a moment like this again.

Abbie leans forward then in her chair. Elbows resting on her knees and smiling a small secret smile to herself. 

Her brain kept telling her, turn off, shut down, do not entertain this daydream. Walk away.

But her heart----her heart------

"God speed, your love, to me," Abraham croons and the staff around him erupt into applause. 

They pan back to Axel Waters there in the studio. "Beautiful, that was Abraham Van Brunt from Sleepy Hollow Hospital. Prayers to his friends and family during this difficult time, don't forget to show your support for Abraham by casting your vote tonight! Good night everyone, we'll see you tomorrow night when we tell two more Sleepy Stars good night and sleep tight!"  
***********************

Earlier that day at the coffee shop Luke had excused himself to the men's while Abbie waited for their order. He felt a little guilty about what he was going to do, couldn't believe he was doing it, he might as well be delivering her to his doorstep. But, it's for Abbie he told himself. He's doing this, because for whatever reason she closed this part of herself off and he wants to her to find it again. He'd scoured the internet for hours on end until he'd found a recording of her work after his talk with Chantal. Had listened to it and been blown away. It gut him to think she thought he wouldn't want her to pursue this, her amazing gift. That she'd never wanted to share it. 

This is his way of recommitting to her. How he's going to show her, that he wants her to embrace what she's buried away, that he values it just as much. That Luke wants Abbie to go back and rediscover the magic that is her ability to sing and tear him apart---him, who has never been particularly moved by music----and put him together again. That in five short songs, told him everything he needed to know about the woman Abbie was before they met. And he wants to know her, that passionate storm. 

So he's taking this stupid risk. He waited for them to all nod off and betrayed his own code of ethics but he got the number. And today, while Abbie was waiting for about eight coffees, sandwiches and donuts, he sent the message that he hoped wouldn't backfire incredibly.

That maybe because they both care about her…..there can be something like a truce.  
**************************  
Orion had just grabbed the tea and sandwich for Chantal from catering and was taking it up when his phone went off. He'd paused, stopped by a window with a ledge and rested the tea and sandwich there while he read. A slow smile creeping across his face. He doesn't care how Luke Morales got his number, but he's glad he did. 

*************************  
The show is wrapped, everyone's gone home for the night, Abbie's doing her last check of the perimeters when she gets called to Orion's office. She groans at the call but begins heading up. The door is open, and there's a chair pulled out, waiting for her.

"Angel I've had a hell of a day, we all have. I'd like to sleep and get back to the hospital. Not necessarily in that order." she admits tiredly and blows her hair out of her face.

"Come in," he invites, gesturing to the chair. She scowls at him, realizing he's going to be deliberately difficult and enters, sitting down hard and folding her arms. He takes her in, sizing her up, and then looks pointedly at some papers on the desk. Annoyed, Abbie scoots in closer and takes up the papers, hefting them in her hand before she begins to read. She starts absorbing the information, realizing about half a second too late she's in the middle of the winners contract. 

"You spend half the prize money for them," she points out one of the clauses.

"One quarter to be donated to a charity of their choice. Animal, human, environment, whatever. One quarter that will be invested in their savings, locked for at least five years. A contingency plan that many artists never get a chance to develop before they blow all the money on parties or wild purchases. I'm giving them structure. The rest is theirs to spend, and I pay expenses for their album production anyway."

Abbie considers. "it's a considerate, contract, it's a good example, making them donate some of it. And the back up plan is….kind of you to include too. But why are you showing me this?" He gives her that smile that she knows means trouble.

Orion nods to his desk. "Say the word the contract's yours."

Abbie blinks at him twice before she reels back laughing. 

"I'm serious," 

Her smile flashes out and she sits forward. "You can't do that, you just blew all that money setting up this event, coaching the others,"

"I'm the Angel," he says. Too many years of power may have given him a God complex she thinks. "I do what I want. If I want you to have that deal, you'll have it."

"You're clearly beyond reason right now," she shakes her head and makes for the door. "You've finally gone insane,"

"I'm not leaving without you."

"What?"

"I'm not leaving," he replies calmly. "I know what you're capable of and I'm not leaving without you. If you're not gonna let me love you and give you everything you deserve with all of myself, you're gonna take this deal and let me give you everything you deserve through art

"You can't, you can't DO that. Macey, Abraham, the others? I'm not having this conversation. Abbie bites out, her fists clenched. "I'm not doing this ultimatum nonsense with you."

"Yeah you are--because it's time you stop being afraid of being in motion Abbie, stopped clinging to home sweet home, the place where you've buried good things and the bad. I saw you singing with Abraham. It's still there, the spark, the music is still in you if you'd just embrace it. You'd have complete control, sing what you want, how you want."----that had been Morale's stipulation, to allow Abbie complete and utter creative freedom.

"Unbelievable" she mutters as she turns her back on him, marching briskly towards the door. 

"Sign tonight, sign tomorrow, no difference to me." he muses. "I'm not leaving Sleepy Hollow till you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incoming time jump. If I do this right, we might be all wrapped up by next week, but, don't quote me on that. 
> 
> Here's what's coming up.
> 
> Abbie and Ichabod face to face/ What is the fuss with those damn papers?!
> 
> Black Magic (did you forget about them?)
> 
> The Wedding! 
> 
> These will probably take more than 3 chapters to cover, but those are the big events on the horizon!


	51. The Trouble We Get Up To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie goes off on an......adventure of her own after hearing Orion's offer.
> 
> Soul searching/wildstreak/honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay. I PROMISE. the Abbie Crane thing is happening, SOON.
> 
> This chapter just happened, I'll admit that right now, I started with wanting to do a time jump but I ended up here, I didn't plan it, but I couldn't not write it. I think some valid things were said and done here, so I hope you agree.
> 
> Thank you for being patient. 
> 
> I'm honestly not stalling it. Plotting and tweaking that big convo and the last few chapters, but I'm working at it!

Abbie is alone. For what must be the first time in, two weeks? had it really only been that long? Abbie has total and utter solitude as she calmly leaves the station, gets in her car and drives. She doesn't go to the hospital, to see Crane. Doesn't go either, to see Abraham. Doesn't go to Luke's apartment. Doesn't go home. She cruises down the road, in absolute silence. Giving her mind a chance to work without outside interference. A little check in. You're getting married. She repeats to herself as she passes by the boutique that has her dress and her eyes well up. 

"I'm getting married," she says again, pulling over and resting her head on the wheel. She leans back and admires the ring on her finger, unwontedly summoning the image of Abraham putting it on her the night before, the abnormal excitement that had winked to life in her chest. Tries to shake the nervous feeling that has taken up residence inside of her since. The cold that washes over when she anticipates it. It'll pass, she tells herself, and says Go to Luke, Tell him you're anxious, it'll all work out. 

But what about Crane?

Abbie doesn't know what she expects, what she wants to hear Crane say, but there's a part of her, curse it, damn it, she would bury that feeling six feet under if she could, that wants him to say something, anything, right. Abbie can admit it now, alone in her car. She wants to forgive Ichabod Crane. She wants him to grovel and beg and declare over and over again how sorry and wrong he has been. She wants him to tell her everything. All of the things she never knew. She wants to unearth the secrets of the man that she let lay claim to her life and how she lived it for ten years. Wants to know if after all, she lost herself for nothing.

Abbie puts the car back in drive, and where she does end up now surprises her, but not enough to stop her from locking off the car, skipping up the steps and knocking on the door with too much gusto. She keeps knocking until there's the shuffling of feet on the other end. Grumbling until the door opens.

"Abbie?" Calvin rubs his eyes and blinks a couple of times. "Abbie?" he persists when she walks past him, straight to the living room, goes for the stool and the sheet and whipping off her jacket, toeing off her boots and tousling her hair. 

"Shoot me," she says and Calvin gapes at the path of disarray she has left behind her into his home. 

"Pardon me?"

"C'mon Riggs," she says, business like, detached. "One more time, for old times sake. Capture me in my final days before I become a capital W wife."

He keeps blinking but he staggers over, starts arranging lights and gets the camera. He feels a chill and looks down. Did he honestly answer the door without a shirt? He goes to grab one when Abbie scoffs. "I've seen your chiseled physique Riggs and I can contain myself. Let's just do this." He scrutinizes her before walking over and begins arranging her into a pose. If she's going to storm in here without an explanation, he gets some say in how this…..escapade of hers plays out. 

"So." he begins, tilting her chin to the most advantageous angle and he remembers, a passing fancy of his brain, when he used to tip her head like this for a kiss. He shakes the thought. "what do you want to gain from this?"

"Excuse me?"

"You worked tonight didn't you? Your friend is in hospital, wedding next week. You've got to be exhausted. And yet," he stands back, walks around her stroking his chin. "Yet you're here asking me to take pictures of you. And I've never known you to be vain, Mills."

"A trip down memory lane," she says. "A last hurrah,"

Calvin raises his brows in evident amusement. " A send off? This how you sowing your wild oats?" he comes closer, adjusts the tilt of her head again, checks the light and grabs his camera, he raises it, focuses on her. "Tell me something for once,"

"What I gave was never enough for you, was it."she wonders aloud, mildly bewildered that she chooses now of all times to bring it up. "Not enough to stay here, try again when you got back"

He looks askance at her. "Are we going to pretend that would have made a difference right now?" he asks, lowering the camera."You wanna pick that fight with me tonight Mills? Really? Cause you woke me up and I'm in a bad enough mood not to be polite about it." They stare one another down and Calvin breaks contact first. "I would have chosen differently, if you'd ever given me reason to think you wanted me to be here,"

"I'd have left, come with you, if you'd asked."

Calvin looks up from the camera he's holding in his hand, his gaze piercing, bites his lip, rolls his eyes to the ceiling and barks a laugh. Abbie Mills, he thinks, this woman will never cease to be a puzzle. She's a thousand and one pieces to fit together but missing the full picture so you have no idea what you're aiming for. Don't have a chance in hell at solving it. 

"Can't make a bird fly if it isn't ready to spread it's wings. You get more dead birds that way," he says softly and he begins to snap. This is a different Abbie. This is a shifting morphing thing that moves mid shot and causes a blur. But he keeps it. He likes the distortion of the frames. The chaos of trying to find order. The whirlwind effect. 

She keeps her clothes on. 

"Don't want it to fall off while I move around," she says.

As she takes the ring off and her restless fidgeting ceases.

The last shot is clear and still. It's eerie but fascinating. Like she just emerged from the storm that had tossed her about. Yet, there's no triumph here. Just a stricken, bareness. A blank slate. 

"Here," he says afterward, handing her a bound book.

"What is this?"

"Wedding present. Was gonna save it for the day, but, you're here, so. But don't open it yet. Save it until after." 

She eyes him suspiciously but she pulls her boots back on, grabs her jacket, slipping the her ring into a zippered pocket, and gives a nod and a quick thank you as she leaves. "Just needed to blow off some steam," she explains, then gestures to the camera "You can keep those. Put them in that exhibit you were always threatening me with. G'night Riggs,"

He walks her to the door. "Night Mills."

"Calvin?"

He looks down at her with concerned eyes. 

"Thanks again for coming, for Crane. For being there……for not throwing me from the nest. Even though you probably should have any way,"

************************  
"Well done," Crane croaks as Abraham rejoins him upstairs. Jenny and Nick applaud quietly and then begin to dial in their votes. 

"Thank you," he says, taking up the seat beside Crane. 

"You have a gift." Ichabod says, voice still quiet, but his face is so much more alert. "Abraham?"

"Yeah?"

"I have never felt like a substitute. Just wanted you to know. My world is better with you in it, too," 

"I'm so mad at you for making me cry this much in the span of two days,"  
*************************  
The next place Abbie ends up, must be a sign of insanity. She's trying to figure out that stupid wall on her own. Patting and beating and bumping it with her hip. She groans and smacks it one last time in frustration when it moves. With a whoop of triumph she slides in and begins practically running down the treacherous steps, feeling the whole way down until she collides with the door. She raps smartly on it.

"Password?"

Damnit.

"Lieutenant Mills," she answers instead, hoping her title might carry some weight. 

"Password," they insist. 

"Lieutenant Mills," she retorts, flabbergasted, and a little miffed that they would refuse an officer of the law entry. 

"Pass. Word."

"Don't know it." she grumbles, frustrated.

A potent pause. "Abraham's friend?"

"Yes."

"Customary for guests to accompany the person who invited them before entering on their own,"

"He's tied up tonight."

"Guess then,"

Abbie arches a brow. "Guess."

"The password," they elaborate. 

"Wingardium Leviosa, I don't know,"

The voice sounds highly amused. "Harry Potter? Really? Hardly original. Try again."

"Winter is Coming,"

"Clever but no,"

"Tardis,"

"Stop, you're offending my senses, once more, alright? I'll give you a hint."

"Well go on, can't stand here all night," she taps her foot impatiently. 

"Where does on store things that are rare? Precious, fragile? ancient, mysterious, unknown? Literature and artifacts,"

"A vault?"

"Warmer,"

"Gringotts?"

"Back to Potter again, really?"

"I don't know. Third floor corridor,"

"That is STILL Harry Potter" they sigh exasperatedly. 

" A safe! A treasure chest, an archive---"

The door swings open and the host gestures eagerly for her to come in. "Welcome, to The Archives. Where the memories created here, the people and all of the objects within it, are valued, unique, rare and treasured. To be shared with only those we view in the same light. Only those that we wish to protect and find refuge, camaraderie, good food and good times among others so greatly cherished." and then, as if letting Abbie in on a secret the host leans in, checking around them first when there is obviously no on in earshot. "You are the first person he has ever invited here."

Abbie snorts. "He told me Captain of the force has already been here."

The host shakes his head. "The only, single person, that he has personally escorted, here." he repeats again and Abbie fidgets under the weighted gaze. 

"So what brings you here without company tonight?"

"A search."

"For what, exactly?"

"You're nosey for staff you know that?"

The host smirks at her. "Well go on, enjoy yourself. Good luck on your 'search' Lieutenant Mills,"

Abbie rolls her shoulder and strides into the room, goes straight for the stage where there's a man fiddling with a glockenspiel, and another with a theremin. They look up at her as she joins them, picking her away among the instruments until she's at the drum kit and she rummages around until she finds a triangle. 

"You come to jam or is this a solo act?" one asks, eager to abandon the space should she command it. 

"Jam," she says bravely. Recklessly. 

The one with the glockenspiel turns and starts heading for the piano. "What're we playing?" 

"Not sure," she says, tapping the triangle and letting it ring daintily. 

The men exchange a smile as they catch the wild sparkle in Abbie's eye, the determined tone of her voice. "Guess we're winging it then,"

Abbie laughs, cracking her neck she knocks the triangle again. "Guess we are," she starts knocking it a few more times, tapping her foot. The ring of it is like a chime, a toll, a summons, slowly the other patrons start to look up, their eyes settle on her and sweat gathers on her neck but to hell with it. She's gonna play this by ear. Entirely. 

The piano hits a chord, warm, lush. The theremin gives a high pitched whine before settling into a steady hum. A woman asks,"may I?" and Abbie nods as she climbs up beside her, picks up a tambourine. 

"What's your name?" the pianist hollers as the music starts to find groove, it's own haunting strange melody.

Abbie shakes her head, "Ain't got one tonight." she's got goose flesh, someone just picked up a guitar. Someone else just started humming, picking their own tune. "ooh," Abbie sings sweetly. Counts four bars, and then again, "Oooooooooh, yeah," 

"Come on girl,"

"Ooooooooh!"

"Said what's your name girl?"

She looks over her shoulder and then back out at them. "I said I don't damn well got one tonight. Come on," 

And with that all the other musicians turn to each other, playing joyfully in time, and with a smile and a nod, they jam on.

***************************  
Abbie is hoarse once she leaves, exhilarated. Alive. Far too awake. She closes down the joint. By the time she's done everyone else is too, but she keeps singing, every single damn song that comes to mind, serenading the staff as they wipe tables, clear away dishes, shelf books and works that have been touched lovingly over dinner and harassed by the excitable fingers of first time visitors. She's up there crooning alone to herself, one of the waiters looks up and just pauses for a moment, soaking it all in. Utterly charmed that they can work in a place like this. Her makeshift band had watched her as they left, calling cheerful partings, chiming "It was great!" "You're a natural!" "Let's do this again sometime soon!" 

She beams and waves as they go, swaying alone on the stage, and suddenly her song of choice morphs. She's taken aback by it, to hear the words coming out her mouth and the melody floating around her; but she's singing Abraham's song. The one he wrote for Eddie. Abbie doesn't even know she'd memorized it. Had been listening to it so closely. It sounds so lonely without the guitar, which even then had been sparse. Still singing to herself she drifts to the piano, striking wrong discordant notes as she tries to find herself in the right key, or anything complimentary, and at last, ah, there it is. Her left hand joins, and slowly, with much fumbling, Abbie fills out the texture, the chords she thinks she remembers, some even invented. It might be the late hour but she thinks she sounds decent. Starts to feel like Abraham might even be there, watching her, she wishes he could, that he could hear HER perform one of HIS works. It seems like a fair trade. When the staff all file out in their jackets with their bags, Abbie rockets from the bench. 

"Wait!" she calls, whipping her phone out. "Wait, I know it's late and you need to go home, but please, could you, any of you, record me? just for a minute,"

They bumble around looking at one another until a girl steps forward. "Go on,"

"Thank you, thank you," as she skips back up and starts again. She still fumbles. Still plays obviously wrong notes in between, but it's her voice, and the harmonies underneath that when they strike, when they match, they go. They sync and make the words stand out. It's fragile and beautiful. When done she gets her phone back and she hugs her. Who knows what's gotten into Abbie tonight?

"Lovely," the girl smiles, and the others agree.

"It's for a friend." she explains, and then adds, for no good reason, "A very good friend. He's shared so much with me, I wanted to….give something back," 

"He'll love it," another young man joins in as they all begin shuffling towards the door, out into the stairwell, and Abbie is glad for the company up those steps, boy is she ever at the door they part from her, going merrily out into the night. The host regards her on the other side of the door.

"Well? how was your 'search' Lieutenant? find what you were looking for?"

Abbie casts her gaze up to the sky. "Found something." she says. "but I've got more hunting to do,"

The host nods and strikes off down the street, calling over their shoulder. "Do feel free to continue your, explorations among us, Lieutenant Mills. You have made friends among us tonight,"  
*******************************  
Out on the street Abbie's phone blares to life.

First message from Jenny: You coming to visit Crane tonight?

Second one, from Jenny: Or you going back home first?

Third, Jenny again: Are you okay?

Fourth from Nick: Jenny's worried, call her okay? 

Fifth, from Abraham: Are you coming to the hospital tonight? How was work on your end?

Sixth, Jenny: I'm still at the hospital. Abraham's gone looking for you, Abbie are you okay? Please text back if you're okay?"

Seventh, Nick: Jenny's looking for you. I'm watching Crane. Please give us a call,"

Abbie checks the times, these messages started while she was having her confusing meeting with Orion, and her phone had been silent at Calvin's, no reception in The Archives. She curses, it's three am. 

Do you know where your sister is? 

She dials Jenny. "I'm okay. I'm safe. I'm headed home,"

Nick. "Hey, tell Jenny I'm headed home," 

"Where in the hell have you been?" Nick snaps, and the sharpness shocks her. Nick has never been abrupt with her. Never. "She's been worried sick. That's all she ever does, you know that? Worry worry worry over you. Stays up late thinking about it, how many years has she fretted, hmm? You think that's fair Mills? Her beating herself up all this time because she thinks she failed you. She won't say it but I will. Holds herself back cause she doesn't dare live her life fully if you can't. And none of that is even her fault! The least you could do is make it easy on her, not me, because hell I'm not going through it, but make it easy on her and don't just disappear. You think you're broken, Mills? well think again. You're not the only person walking around in fragments in Sleepy Hollow," he hangs up. 

Sir Nicholas Hawley, charmer, traveller, family friend, just chewed her up and spit her out. She's stunned. She leans on her car, wounded and stung. 

She'd told Jenny not to blame herself, they'd talked about everything that night and it's been great between them since, hasn't it? 

One talk doesn't stitch up the wounds. It threads the needle. Doesn't finish the suture. 

Doesn't rebuild the bridge you burned. Though it starts gathering the bricks. So no. One talk with Jenny, doesn't solve everything. 

And one talk with Crane won't either. 

Healing is long. 

And Abbie will do well to remember that. Her phone rings. 

"Abbie?"

"Hey Jenny, look I'm sorry---"

"Don't. Just. Where are you?" 

"Um. Outside the magic wall? The Archives" 

A sigh on the other end. "You coming home now?"

"Yeah" she assures, opening the door and strapping herself in. Pats her pocket to make sure the ring is still there. "Yeah, headed straight there," And just as she hangs up, lo and behold, there's Abraham wandering in the dark. Blue shirt today she notes and honks to get his attention. He squints in her direction before approaching the car, relief washing over his face. She rolls down her window. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you!" 

"Well you found me, come on, you can stash the guitar in the back."

Abraham walks around to the back, carefully stowing the instrument before joining her in the front. He buckles in and they sit quietly for a second. For what reason who knows, maybe Abbie expects him to give her a good tongue lashing for bad behaviour too. "Why didn't you answer any of your messages?" he starts. 

Well, she mulls it over in her brain as she turns the key in her ignition. For starters, Orion offered me what could potentially be your contract. And then I went to my ex boyfriend turned wedding photographer and asked him to take pictures of me, one last time. And then I spent who knows how many hours at The Archive, you know that special place you introduced me too? our place? yeah, went there alone. Selfishly, sang forever. But hey I recorded a video I'd like you to listen to?

"Abbie," 

"Distracted," she answers and she can feel his glare. 

"You can pull that with whoever you like Abbie but not me," he says, voice low and stern. "What happened tonight?"

"I'm trying to drive,"

"Not. Me. Not after what I know. Not after what you know. This isn't us. So you start talking now or I'll walk." 

Abbie sets her jaw and makes the turn. "How's Crane?"

"I said---"

"And I asked how's Crane?"

"Well," he replies tersely. "Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Left Nick at the hospital while Jenny went to wait for you at home. Should be out in a few days."

"Good," Stop light. "Sang well tonight. Macey too. She might win it from you y'know. That audience roared for her"

"I'd take credit but my instruction with her ended at piano. Now stop changing the subject,"

"If she won, if you won, it would change your lives. It would be an incredible opportunity, he's got a nice contract laid out for you, very fair,"

"What on EARTH are you talking about?"

Green Light. "He offered me the contract." 

That silences him. 

"And to hell with the effort you and Macey have put in I guess. Said, 'say the word and it's yours'"

"So what did you say?"

"What do you think I said," she snaps.

"If I know you, nothing." 

When Abbie looks out the corner of her eye she can tell he's studying her. "And why's that, huh? Since you know me so damn well all of a sudden?"

"You told me yourself, last night, I think. Turn here, we don't live far from each other, actually." 

Abbie silently, angrily signals. "And what did I say exactly?"

"You're afraid. You don't know why, but you just are. Here." he says and Abbie pulls up outside of the home. Modern mid sized thing slammed next to another of similar design. Decent. When he gets his guitar and gets out the car, he comes around to her side. 

"What."

"Might as well come in."

"My house isn't that far, said so yourself."

"One more pit stop tonight isn't gonna hurt you." he leans in. "Unless you're afraid of something in there?" he asks, all innocence. "I swear I don't keep monsters as pets. Besides, you haven't visited yet."

"You think three…..twenty one am is a good time for a tour?"

"You're armed," he reminds her. "Blow me away if I even look at you the wrong way." he says and winces. They both do, immediately thinking of Crane. Too soon. 

Rolling her eyes Abbie dials her sister. "Jenny? I picked up Abraham. Yeah he's not far. Brief detour. My phones way up. Yeah his address is," and she scans for the number, relaying it to Jenny. "I'll hear if you call. And Jenny? I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, truly, deeply, I am. I love you. Don't you ever forget that." 

"What was all that about? she think I'm gonna kidnap you?" he muses. 

"Can we get this over with?"

Inside he turns on the lights and heads for the kitchen. "Tea, coffee…..um," he continues ransacking his cupboards. "Oh. Peanut butter hot chocolate. That must be Crane's doing,"

"He's always had a sweet tooth," she supplies and they share a grin. She takes a seat. "Alright. Sorry for being so, hostile, to you earlier."

"Sorry for being….invasive," he admits, grabbing the hot chocolate and mugs, setting to work warming some milk. 

"I, went off on my own tonight. Just haven't had a chance to do that in a while." 

Abraham nods, leaning on the counter. "I hope you'll stop being afraid one day Abbie. You can't wall off fear. Without fear there isn't courage," he stops, finishes prepping their warm beverages before joining her at the table, pulling his chair around so it's just a tad closer and their legs bump one another underneath and neither seem to mind. Her legs turn just a bit more inward. Steam curls up above the mugs, the smell wafts around them, warm and sweet. Abbie looks from her mug to him, looks into his kind green eyes, forgets to flinch as he reaches toward her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. "And I know you're courageous," he trails that hand around the side of her face, stopping at her chin. She leans into it, for just a second, but doesn't bother to register shock. There's nothing coy with Abraham. They can't hide from each other. Even when they deny they're telling a tricky brand of truth. 

"I went to Calvin's. He was at the hospital."

Abraham listens, his hand still in the same place before he drops his hand, but before it can hit his lap Abbie catches it. Drop his hand. Her brain blares. Walk out of here, NOW. Stop….stop letting him in stop, doing this, Abbie, get your head on straight---

No. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart meets the protests with calm denial. Be brave here. No. 

"I asked him to take pictures of me. We dated, couple months before I got together with Luke. It's something we did often. He's good at his job. He's going to be the photographer for the wedding, and I asked him to take pictures,"

"For old times sake," he concludes and she smiles.

"Yeah. Stupid right?"

Abraham shrugs, stroking his thumb along the back of her hand. It's soothing. She desperately wishes it wasn't but it's very soothing. "It's reflective, right? You're committing yourself to a man, till do us part, you just want time, to, take stock. Revisit some memories. You've been through a lot Abbie. I don't blame you needing to, get out your own head." 

"And then I went to The Archive," she confesses, looking away shyly. 

"Did you?"

"I'm sorry, it's our---your special place and I shouldn't have gone alone, but Orion shook me up."

Abraham makes a face of horror and dismay. "No, Orion? Shock? never," he squeezes her hand gently. "I'm not mad, by the way. "

Abbie finishes her drink, and rests her head on the palm of her free hand, looking at him. This shouldn't be such an easy thing to do, not so simple. He reaches for her that hand abruptly, studying it. "You didn't lose your ring again, did you?"

"Coat pocket" she answers a little smugly. "Zippered shut." And now both of her hands are being held by his. "How about that tour?" she declares too loudly for the quiet stillness of the place but Abraham just smiles softly before showing her around. Pausing only briefly outside of Crane's door. He doesn't go in, and she has no interest in doing so. It's quarter to five when they wind back up in the kitchen and Abbie checks her phone, making sure she hasn't missed any calls, and yawns loudly. She's going to feel the effects of this she's sure. She can't remember the last time she's been up this late. Early. Whatever. 

"You okay to drive?" he asks, grasping her arms at the door. 

She blinks rapidly. "Fine, I'll be fine." she assures him, meeting his gaze and he draws her slowly into an embrace. His chin on her crown and when she pulls away, she feels his hand slide to her neck. 

Her heart rears. It roars. She thinks its about to break free----

"Remember what we talked about," he whispers as he draws closer, and she can smell him, feel the heat rolling off of him. "About fear," he clarifies "about courage," and his lips press to her forehead, gently, so gently. Her fingers grip his shirt, just a second. His hands cup her face, tilting her face up so their eyes meet, leans in just a bit closer, so their foreheads touch. "I wish you, Abbie, the courage to fly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to challenge myself to make that convo happen next chapter. I really am. Thank you so much for your enduring patience!


	52. Forfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too many things happen here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promised the talk so its coming but it was a HUGE chapter, so I broke it up. so you WILL see it within this update of the next 2-3 chapters (including this one.

They argue.

For the first time since their agreement to try monogamy, they quarrel. 

It started so quietly, so innocently. He gets back at quarter to five, Abbie is only fifteen minutes away perhaps, but that's enough time to disagree, for tempers to flare and hurts to set in. 

Here's the thing about pain. It's not a fussy thing. Needs little encouragement to grow. To flourish. It starts with him coming in the door after leaving Crane's bedside because he can't spend the night there, he didn't sleep well sitting up in the hospital waiting room, and he doesn't sleep well without Jenny, a fact that had taken him a good long while to accept. She looks up expectantly when she hears the key in the lock, but deflates when she realizes its him. To weary, or perhaps inconsiderate to mask her flicker of disappointment. It starts when he asks. "Where's Abbie?"

"Abrahams," Jenny replies, she's sitting on the couch, hands clasped between her knees. 

"Abrahams," He repeats in disbelief. Checks his watch. "Do you know what time it is?"

"She was dropping him off. ---"

"Unbelievable" he mutters throwing his arms in the air.

"-------Guess he ran into her while he was looking----"

"Jenny it's, it's ten to five, AM"

"He doesn't live far----"

He loses it. "Stop making excuses!" he shouts. "Stop pardoning her at every turn! And stop making her your scape goat too"

She's got a fighter spirit. Always has. Weariness flees her quickly and she's ready to spar. Later, when she looks back on it, she knew it was coming. Knew it would have to. "Don't talk about Abbie that way don't you dare,"

"No? Then I'm gonna talk about you."

"Nick," she growls. 

"Go ahead." he challenges. "GO AHEAD. Come on let me have it. Tell me about how I keep shutting you out because I don't want to leave behind my wounded sister. Who I've always been there for, but when I was hurt, because she shut me out, and all I had was YOU, she was too busy fortifying herself and becoming an impenetrable fortress and didn't even GRASP that I was in pain too. Oh wait, that's You and Abbie."

"Nick,"

"OR. Let's talk about how I make you worry, right? I disappear and don't check in until I damn well please and then instead of coming straight home because you're worried about me, I stop off at a friends. Sorry, You and Abbie again." 

"You've made your point, Nick."

"No Jenny I think you've made yours," he says and storms down the hall. She follows him, curious, and then stricken when she realizes he's stuffing shirts and pants in a bag. It's not all of his stuff, far from it, but it's the visual of him packing anything at all. 

"What the hell are you doing?" She asks, immediately unpacking everything he puts in, for every shirt that goes in she throws out. 

"I mean. Maybe I've been kidding myself, right? Maybe, maybe I just couldn't take a hint, and for whatever reason, you've gotten too soft to tell me the truth,"

"Are you gonna fucking talk straight to me or keep speaking in riddles?" she yells back grabbing a shirt he stuffs in, and they begin tugging on it. 

"I'm saying if you don't want this Jenny just say so. But don't keep putting Abbie in the way. I can't live my life waiting for her to be happy. I just---I just. Can't. Live, this way anymore."

"What is wrong with you?" she pulls on the shirt. "You wanted more I gave it! I stopped screwing other dudes, we go to bed together every night, I tell you I love you, isn't that enough?"

"Let go of my DAMN SHIRT" he shouts, yanking hard and the fabric screeches as it tears down the middle. "No it's not FUCKING enough Jenny. Because I'm a greedy man, alright? All or nothing at all. And the funny thing is. I wasn't that way. I never gave a damn until I met you. I never wanted more, but with you I did, and you gave me what you could, I know that, and I wouldn't take it back, but you know there's still more in me Jenny, and I can't…..I can't STAY HERE and watch you turn a blind eye to it because……because you're scared for her. I'm not dating Abbie Mills, I'm dating you. I want you. I only want you. But if you can't move ahead. Maybe you don't want me as much as I thought."

"I never lied to you, I never promised you anything I couldn't deliver on,"

"There's nothing you couldn't deliver on, if you really wanted to,"

"'Then why are you doing this to me? to us?" 

He whirls on her "I didn't do this to us. YOU did it. SHE did it,"

"Now who's the one throwing around blame?"

"Well I think it's DAMN TIME I had a chance to shirk responsibility too, don't you think? Damn time I got to run away for once." He successfully rips a pair of pants out of her hands, cramming them in the bag. "You're a lot like you know.The two of you. She's afraid of being left behind, you're afraid of abandoning her but at the end of the day it's the same damn thing. You're scared."

"Stop this, stop being like this,"

"I'm not afraid, Jenny!" he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards him. "I love you, I am not afraid. Know why? Because love strengthens you, empowers you, lifts you and carries you over the fallen trees and the chasms of life, I am not afraid Jenny because I know you'd catch me if I fell of a cliff," he heaves, eyes shimmering. "I know. I know you'd saw my leg off if you had to so I could survive but you'd be right there to help me recover, you'd stay right there, because that's who you are." He lets her hand go slowly, touching her face. " But I also know, that if Abbie hollered, your concentration would slip, and I'd fall babe. You wouldn't mean to, I know that. But that's your sister and I can't compete with it Jenny and I won't make you any longer. I love you. God help me I'm so madly deeply in love with you and I can't have you," 

"Nick!" she screams, following him to the door, tugging his bag, his shoulder, scrabbling all over him as he shoves his feet in his shoes. "Hawley you son of a bitch you're not going anywhere!"

He glances over his shoulder at her, eyes brimming with tears because it hurts. Its selfish and wrong but HE'S been enduring too. Abbie doesn't have the monopoly on pain. "Neither are you, Mills," the tears fall and she launches herself at his back at the door, trying to hold him back.

"Baby please," she begs and Jenny can't even be properly disgusted by herself because at this moment, she knows FEAR. Nick had been wrong before, she wasn't afraid, and even if she was it can't compare to this feeling she's experiencing right now. "Please,"

With shaking fingers he pries her off. "Here we are again." He says. "Maybe it's a sign that it always ends like this."

"What do you want Nick, tell me, just tell me,"

Nick chokes. "More. With you I'll always want more." 

Her breath leaves her as she watches him skip down the steps with his bag, striding off into the shy dawn breaking in the sky. 

******************************  
Chantal goes straight to the hotel after they go off the air. She's staying in the same hotel as Orion. A nice room. Perfect view of the street below. It's spacious, great big fluffy, bed. Deluxe bathroom. Took a good soak in it once she got back from the studio. There had been flowers in it, first day that she checked in. She's been mildly impressed that he'd even bothered to book a room in advance to her coming. 

But it's Orion. She should know by now to expect anything from him, volatile creature he is. 

So, she's not really, terribly shocked when her phone rings. She glances at it, scans the name and smirking to herself, continues filing her nails while she counts silently to ten. Fifteen. Twenty, wow he must be really worked up if he's still waiting, she pauses just long enough to swipe the screen and hit speaker. "Talk to me," she answers.

A pause. 

"I think I've done a bad thing,"

Chantal rolls her eyes and goes back to filing, she knows she should cut them because they get in her way on the piano, but she's going to enjoy them for just a bit longer before she gives them a clip. Small indulgences. "A bad thing or stupid thing?"

Another pause before he answers, in a surprising self deprecating way, "What's the difference?"

She chuckles. "With you? they're one and the same. Wanna talk about it?" 

"Are you sure?" 

Chantal quirks her brow and regards the phone. Hesitation? From Orion Angel? well that's new. And a little unsettling. She puts down the file. "Yeah I'm sure. You okay Rybaby?"

"After all this time, you've managed to make that sound endearing"

"Call it a gift. Come on up. You sound troubled."

"Thanks Tally."

The fact that he knocks on her door not even half a second after she hangs up makes Chantal wonder if Orion hasn't somehow managed to orchestrate the whole thing. Or that he's so self assured that he knows her inside out, because it's apparent he was already on her floor when he made the call. 

"You plan that?" she asks, letting him in and padding over to the bed in her pj bottoms and light long sleeved sleep shirt. 

The answering look he gives her is vexing if not charming too. He slips off his shoes, throws his jacket casually on the floor and slowly joins her on the edge of the bed. Closer than she expected him to sit, to be honest. 

"Okay. Tell me, what did you do?"

"Let me ask you something first," he starts. "You played the Morales funeral?"

"Yes……"

"Spoke to Luke?"

Chantal tucks a curling strand behind her ear. "Yes….."

"What about, exactly?"

Reluctantly, she admits they spoke about Abbie, how she had encouraged him to embrace Abbie for who she is, every single part of her. Absolutely. Completely. 

"Thought so," he sighs. 

"What do you mean?"

"It's what he said to me, he's the one who sent me the 'unbelievable' text. And, It just sounded like the sort of thing you would say." he meets her eyes. "And I mean that in a good way. You're capacity for acceptance and, caring, for others. It's pretty amazing to see. When you heard Abraham's friend got shot, there was this, fire. And when you were coaching Macey, then too, so much, investment. Like you care through and through and through."

She smiles at him and begins idly twisting her hair. 

"It's beautiful," he continues. "That part of you. It's a beautiful thing."

"Thank you, Orion," and she just barely catches the glimmer of a smile on his face. "But now tell me, what you did."

"Promise not to be mad at me?"

"Can't do that, sorry," 

Orion shakes his head. "Luke was just, following your advice, mind you."

"And?" she prompts. 

"He really wants her to get back into music---hey do you think Macey would do well on Broadway?----and Abraham, he'd do well on his own, right?

"Yes, yes but what are you getting at Angel,"

"I offered Abbie the contract"  
*****************************  
Well, you've got her now. Go on. Get this out of your system and out of your head. 

If I'm wrong, if I've misread, she'll hate me, I'll lose her.

If you were so scared of losing her you'd let go of her now. 

Abraham's eyes shut and Abbie's do too. 

You'll know once and for all. You'll find out if maybe it's just been music and Crane after all that has you bound so tight. 

Their noses touch. 

This is it.

All that hard work and bravo, you've done it, you're going to ruin absolutely everything.

If this happens, what will I do? if I'm wrong, if I allow this, what will he think of me? What kind of woman, who knows such hurt could inflict it on someone else?

If you cared so much about the pain you could cause you'd have left when I told you to.

But my heart tells me----

Your HEART told you many things long ago and look what it left you.

they can feel the other's breath on their lips. 

Closer. 

Take it now or forfeit, and it's a thought they both have. There will not be another time, a better time. You sort this out now or never. 

Yes.

She takes one step.

Yes.

He takes another. His fingers have slid into her hair now. She can't figure out how or when this happened. The first night, probably, when she heard him singing her song---had it been his voice or her own music that had called to her?---it doesn't matter now, because she has answered the call, again, and again. 

But-----

\-----Crane

Luke------

Betrayal of trust. People who have always been there for them, care for them. Their hearts are the type to forsake all others, but not the people, not them.

Not us.

He lands at the corner of her mouth instead---so close, it would just take a turn of her head and the gesture would be complete--- but it's a purposeful miscalculation that she understands, is grateful for him sparing her of that weight, of being someone who leaves for their own gain. But the assurance of her mind saying you did the right thing, doesn't silence her heart roaring you're wrong. 

Her hands go around his wrists, keeping him there a moment as he brushes his lips in the same place again. A pause. Then once more. 

The lies they tell themselves here. 

If our lips don't touch, we have not been untrue. If our arms don't twine, we have not committed to pursuing this unexpected inappropriate thing. If we dance around it, tip toe quietly, tomorrow we can pretend it never happened. Because after all what binds them? heartbroken songs, pain and a wretched man they have had the great pleasure and misfortune of his presence in their lives. Abbie wonders if, as Abraham had suggested the other day, that had their been no Crane, would there still be them? 

What reason would they have to bond? Had she married Ichabod, had they children, had Abraham been their uncle---  
************************  
Future: Unknown

There would be a day when she'd be singing in the kitchen, and yes, the children would ask, why she didn't become a singer, and yes, she would tell them she had been afraid---but then they would say "Uncle Abraham isn't afraid. He sings all the time in front of people and he loves it, he likes adventure"

"And music"

"And being seen!" the youngest would pipe up. 

"And heard, and honest, and true," Abraham would smile, having let himself in with his spare key. One of those peculiar things that Abbie hadn't argued with when Ichabod suggested it. 

She'd laugh, telling the children to go play, and he'd sidle up next to her, helping with the dishes. And he'd start humming. And she would too, and with a small smirk he'd begin a song, and she would join in. 

And another slippery slope they would take----- 

But there would be children in the fray of her heart then, and a husband to betray, and the damning sense then too that she was wrong but couldn't give a damn because she wanted him and------  
***********************  
July 2015  
\----------what ifs are irrelevant. This, even now, they could forget it, they could wipe it from their minds and into dark corners-------

And yet they'd both woken up singing the morning after they'd danced, miming the steps. They'd both kept searching for the other in the dark of stairs and the cover of blanket. 

But still, if they put their minds to it, they can still turn back from here, still recover without damaging their bond and the innocents among them----although to call Crane an innocent……..

He draws away and she darts up quickly, aiming for his cheek but lands on his jaw. 

Just, this. 

This isn't so treacherous, is it? 

These are mere endearments. Affections between close friends……but there's a potential for a turn, there's a chance to change intent------they won't entertain it. Its too much of a mess.

He breathes in. 

Her lips press just a bit closer there before she pulls away. Their hands go for each others. Even if their mind and hearts could agree their infernal hands would still conspire against them. 

These fingers that brushed back hair and touched keys and held one another in dance, that wiped away tears and press one another close. 

It occurs to her then that their moments have always been suffused with some type of pain. Something that warranted closeness, friendship. But there's no excuse for this. There's no reason, why either of them should hover so dangerously close, stealing bits of string instead of the jewels they covet. 

They're here because they want to be.

Shouldn't be, but are still. 

Abraham clears his throat. "You must be exhausted,"

An excuse, an escape route, giving her a chance to flee. He'll regret it the minute she's out the door, but it's a kindness on his part too that he even offers her the choice. She should damn the choice and take this, but the look in his eyes----Abraham is not some way to trip the light fantastic, not a distraction, she'd better be sure of her heart and her head before she does something like this to him. And because she cannot bare to take this step in the midst of her chaos, she answers, "I am." Eyes blink up at him, be reckless, she prays, I'm a coward and can't do it on my own, please, take the fall for this and kiss me --

How DARE you think it? She snaps at herself. This isn't damning make believe. You're a mess Mills. You're a wreck. Abraham isn't a curiosity and he doesn't deserve for you to treat him like one, this mangled jumble that you are--you scarcely trust yourself to make decisions, you cannot ask, you CANNOT WANT him to put himself at that risk knowing your own state is so unsure. You cannot wilfully invite him to dance and then flee the floor when the music no longer suits you. You are here and you STILL do not know yourself well enough to say yes, right now, I will plunge headfirst and let the rest burn----but she knows him. Betrayal is not in his nature. "What about you?" 

He knows with a bone deep surety that she wouldn't refuse him, should he at last crack. Abraham has never been a selfish man, one that would ruin lives for his own chance. 

"Equally so,"

They smile. So that's the excuse then? sleep deprivation? Weary minds led you so far astray? 

So be it.

"Good luck tonight," she says, grasping the door.

"I don't know, you might have stolen that contract from me by then," 

She flashes a smile over her shoulder as she leaves.   
***********************************  
Chantal isn't quite sure how Orion ended up twisting her hair. She thinks it was shortly after she said, "You'd move mountains for Abbie huh,"

and he'd said. "For anyone I care about, honestly," 

"Abbie," she'd insisted. "Though if it's her or the voice I'm still unclear,"

"Since that night," Orion said, "When she marooned me in the street…..and you got into town, I've wondered the same thing,"

Chantal had looked at him carefully before prodding further. "So…..I don't suppose you've actually thought through what would happen to the show if you did it, have you?"

"It'd be a scandal. Buzz,"

"And you love buzz." she concludes. 

"You think I'm crazy, Chantal?"

"Selfish, arrogant, brilliant, and insane, to name a few. You're a one track minded man, if you ask me. You live your life like a hunter. But I don't think you'll ever be happy until you've mined the depths of every piece of talent on earth."

"Like you then,"

"Me?"

He nods and casually reaches for her hair, shifting, positioning himself behind her on the bed and gently, slowly, methodically, starts twining the strands around each other. "You mine people. Right down to the core, find out what makes them tick, polish them up and make them shine. In all the time I've known you, you've always been snappy with me, sharp tongued and witty and I like it, like to spar a little bit. But, I never realized your capacity to care."

Chantal would turn if he didn't have her tresses so heavily anchored in his hands, and she values her natural hair too much to yank it. Oh, but the way he's paused, and the breath she feels on her neck.

"You've got a lot of heart. You know that?" he says softly and draws back, setting back to work. 

Chantal can't decide if it's a compliment, or a warning.  
****************************  
It's five fifteen when Abbie walks through the door. Jenny is sitting by the table, stone faced, red eyed. "Jenny?" her gaze flicks to her a second and then back to her clasped hands. 

"Jenny I'm sorry I vanished on you tonight. Where's Nick?"

"Gone," she answers vacantly. 

"Gone where?"

"Who knows," Jenny gives a half hearted shrug. "Just missed him."

"Jenny what are you talking about?"

"He left, Abbie"

"Left? like for a walk?"

"ME." she erupts. "ME. Like how I left you to cope? Nick left me. Guess I finally know what it feels like to get abandoned." she sniffs and tears flows but her voice doesn't crack. "Guess I can relate now. And here I thought I'd known pain."

"What happened?"

"Said that I'm putting my life on hold waiting for you to be okay. And, I couldn't, I wouldn't, when he asked----"

"Jenny," Abbie presses.

"Third times a charm they say. But it broke the camels back,"  
************************  
December 2012

Nick had waltzed her into a jewelry shop, steered her toward engagement rings. She'd tried on three. She'd said no. Their newly committed relationship was still too fresh.

February 2014

Valentines, a cliche. She'd thought it was a joke. They always teased those who poured on the romance too thick. She'd said "Nice try Hawley." 

She'd said no.

July 2015

Her feet are in his lap, and they're so casual, so okay, settling in to relax when he says. "Marry me Mills," And she'd laughed, because how nonchalant could he be, and it's so….so ordinary, no pomp whatsoever, and waves him off.

"No Hawley," she laughs. 

Right before the news came on. And they were running to Crane's bedside. 

She'd always thought he was jesting. Always thought he understood it just wasn't something to consider until Abbie was alright.

She should have known he meant it. 

He'd meant it.

Every. 

Single.

Time.

Jenny knows it too. Because she knows him just that well. But knowing doesn't take the edge off.

******************************

"Jenny?" Abbie presses, reaching for her sisters hands but she pulls away. 

The withdrawal stings. So, Abbie thinks bitterly. This is what it was to be Jenny all those years. Trying so hard to pry her open and her always pulling away. This is the rejection she had been kind enough to inflict on her sister. This is being locked outside with no spare key. 

Jenny rises slowly from the table and starts down the hall. 

Abbie is at a loss for words. She has been all too keenly aware of her own pain for so long, she has neglected her own ability to hurt others. Somehow she's never realized she could, that she has the power to. That anyone could be as foolish as she had once been, that anyone could make the dire mistake she had once made, of trusting, loving, completely, wholly, with such utter faith, that SHE of all people could do damage. 

Could hurt her sister. Could hurt Nick---practically family after so long----she'd wondered if Jenny and Nick would tie the knot. Had in many ways expected them to do it first, but had grown comfortable too with their stasis. The constant of Nick and Jenny being around the house and nothing more itself had become a haven she'd subconsciously taken refuge in. She'd long since stopped being concerned if they'd ever walk the aisle. Too accustomed to the way things were. 

"Jenny, I'm…..I'm sorry,"

"No, no, I am,"

Two hours later Jenny is at Abbie's bedroom door. And she looks the same save for her reddened eyes. "Get up," she instructs, and the curt tone doesn't match the vulnerable weary eyes. "Luke is taking you for breakfast and you've got half an hour to make yourself look like you weren't out all night and wee hours of the morning with Abraham,"

Abbie groggily objects to the implication. "I wasn't with Abraham the whole time, I couldn't have spent more than ninety minutes there-----"

"Do I look like I care?" Jenny snaps, turning her back. "Get dressed. You've got your final fitting today. Seeing as I'm the only one around here that seems to remember you're getting married."

"Now wait a---"

"No." 

Abbie pauses as she pushes her feet in her slippers. "No?"

Jenny looks over her shoulder. "I said no, Abbie. I'm done waiting." A breath. "Fitting after breakfast, pick the cake, with Luke," she stresses. "he texted this morning to say his day is cleared to help with finishing touches. You work security tonight and then he's taking you out."

And she walks away.


	53. Hopeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things happening here, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to note here, that Abraham is not a giving up type, he just wants to give Abbie an opportunity to sort out things with Crane. Beyond that? the connection he has with her is basically eating him alive, and he's probably going to snap soon.
> 
> We haven't seen Abraham do something utter ridiculous and irrational yet, have we? I don't believe so. 
> 
> We'll see in chapters to come ;)

Orion wakes up in Chantal's bed. Fully clothed, and so far apart from her----he's never woken up on complete opposite sides of the bed from a woman before-----and he slowly takes in the way his limbs are arranged, as if they had been latched on to something, around someone. 

It had been months, years, since any one's hands had ventured in her hair and Orion's curious and slow meddling had made her drowsy. Her shoulders relaxing and eyes closing, and sleep coming so swift like a thief that she had lolled forward before Orion had gripped her arms and pulled her back against his chest before she toppled off the bed. 

"Tally?" he'd called. "Taaaalllly," he sing songed in her ear and she'd blinked drowsily at him. 

"Sorry," she'd mumbled sleepily. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought,"

He'd chuckled. "No problem here Chantal," and then, he had the most contrary instinct, he leaned back on the bed, arms still around her, with every single intention of leaving afterward, before he was asleep too.

Chantal had turned in the middle of the night, in the wrong direction, feeling a puff of air across her face and had nearly leapt out of her skin when she saw who was in bed with her. She'd spent at least five minutes double checking that they were both still fully clothed. Another two minutes trying to recall how she'd ended up here, why his arms were around her, before purposely rolling away from his grasp. 

Whatever she feels for Orion, she has kept it tempered and at bay too long for him to win her over in one night merely playing in her hair. 

So that's how Orion finds himself stretched so awkwardly, groaning as he stretches and rises and Chantal turns just slightly then. "Good morning," she yawns. 

"Morn----ahhhh"

"Another day,"

Orion swings his feet out of the bed. "Another day. Chantal?"

"Yeah?" she sits up, tousling her….well….who'd have guessed, Orion knows how to do hair. She pauses, feeling around before moving towards a mirror to examine his handiwork. When she turns towards him she catches him smirking. 

"Not bad eh?" he gloats.

Chantal rolls her eyes. "Thanks for doing my hair, Orion." she wrinkles her nose. "That is possibly the strangest sentence I've ever uttered. What were you saying?"

"Thanks for letting me crash here. I've---I've got some free time, before we set up for tonight. How about I show you around?"

Chantal levels her gaze with his across the room as she moves towards the bathroom. "If I say yes will you scram?"

His answering laugh makes her smile as she hears the door shut behind him. 

A little later, after they've showered and smartly put themselves together Chantal meets him in the lobby, her twists tucked and arranged into a charming style, with a flower comb tucked into it. He questions the flush of pride he feels at seeing that she left the twists in. The way the style highlights her face, the angles and the rosiness in her cheeks. She's a beautiful woman, it flickers in his mind. He's always known that, hasn't he? Her eyes land on him and she walks over, smiling, purposeful and sure in her walk. 

She knows she's beautiful too. Will gladly inform someone that she's downright gorgeous---but that's simply because Chantal loves herself. Fights her fights and braves the lonely hours but she's got herself, and as long as she keeps being true to that, keeps making sure that she's alright, HAPPY even, with the woman she is, then she'll be okay. Chantal is so, at home, in herself, she's open and ready and willing---he sees that now, Chantal has tried to stow away that tendency around him, always herself, but just a bit, mildly less kind to him. But since she arrived, since he's seen her around other people, which he has never witnessed before, he sees the light in her shine, who she truly is. He'd like to see more of that, wouldn't mind if she damn near blinded him. 

"You look lovely," 

Chantal grins at him. "The funny things you say, Angel," when he looks at her perplexed she corrects him. "I don't 'look' or 'appear' lovely. I am," she winks. 

He doesn't have any choice but to agree. She keeps looking at him with this bemused expression that he can't quite understand. They're about to leave when they notice Nick mulling around in the lobby, pacing, muttering to himself. He'd checked in in the wee hours and had cried and then slept fitfully. Woke up too soon and has since been rehearsing. Because angry as Nick was, he's still not ready to give up. He regrets everything now. But swallowing so many words for this long has been making his stomach churn. 

Chantal pauses. "Nick, is it?"

He whirls around, vaguely recognizing them. He nods. "Morning."

"Chantal," she extends her hand, "And Orion," 

"Abrahams and Abbie's friends,"

Chantal and Orion exchange a look, amused by the reduction of their entwined and complex histories to simple 'friends'. " Yeah," they agree. 

"Are you alright?" Chantal asks, Nick's eyes betraying him with their weariness. 

"No," because why bother lying. 

Chantal glances at her friend, expecting him to object to what she's about to do, but he's looking on instead with rather invested interest. "We're going out for some air. Come with?" she invites, still waiting for Orion to stall or mutter or just be his generally snarky self, but he merely nods. 

"Yeah, join us," 

They share a smile. Nick looks between them, and though miserable, he smiles just a little too.

Orion leads the way out of the building, holding the door for Chantal who is still taken aback by his easy going attitude, but Orion is at last trying to learn a bit from her. He's letting her be herself. Her whole complete authentic self, and he's not going to stand in the way of her showing who that is to him. And he's going to take a page out of her book too, something is obviously troubling Nick, and no doubt, at some point today they'll get to the bottom of it, and he usually can't, doesn't, won't be bothered with delving into someones life if music isn't at stake. But today he'll try. Today he will, and it won't be so bad. 

Today he'll be more of who he is, and a little of what he's not. 

And Chantal won't stand in the way of him figuring that out, either.   
**************************  
"And how are we this morning Mr. Crane?" the nurse asks. Ichabod answers robustly. 

"Well as can be, given the circumstances. I'd like some air, if you possible?"

The nurse moves toward the window. 

"Sorry, I meant. I'd like to go outside," 

"I'll get a chair?"

Ichabod chews his lip for a moment, then looks up at her. "I was hoping, with your assistance, that I might walk"

***************************  
It's just a few hours before they air and Abbie is going through her routine. She gives Andy his orders and he goes on his way. She's sorry that they have become so estranged now, because for all the years they've worked together, he has never been less than a good friend. But as ready as she is to pretend it never happened, she can see it in his eyes, Andy has suddenly developed a fighting spirit---and Abbie is just not up to the task of another confrontation. Between that unruly and unbecomingly deafening heart of hers and her too fresh, too recent fall out with Jenny and then the quarrel she'd had with Luke over the cake. 

He didn't like the pink champagne one. Not even the prospect of rum custard. 

Or the white chocolate. Didn't like the raspberries.

Not to mention the flummoxed commotion Gertrude had made when she'd strolled in with Luke, arm and arm and had gone through the daunting business of introducing him as her fiance while trying to make eyes at her not to mention Abraham. 

And then, when she'd suggested playfully as Abraham had, that they just do every layer a different flavour, he had frowned, looking at her as if it was the most bizarre request he'd ever heard before quickly rallying and deciding abruptly to agree with everything she said. She supposed it was his renewed effort to be understanding and accepting who she is---but even Abbie is still very unclear on that right now. She's a tad closer, but she's in no place to define, and certainly would be hard put to tell Luke exactly where this journey is going to take her. 

Poor Gertrude had been thoroughly confused. 

She's done her walk around, and stops by an empty practice room. Not so much tuning up and rehearsal going on during result night, and Abbie lets herself drift toward the piano, pulls out her phone and plays back the video from the night before. 

"That's Abrahams,"Chantal says, matter of fact as she strides in. Abbie stiffens but then relaxes realizing who it is. 

"Yeah, it is, he played it for me the other day."

Chantal gets a wistful look in her eyes. "He played it for me back in first year. I'd told him to do it at the first res coffeehouse but he was still shy then, had told me it 'wasn't fit for public consumption'" she chuckles. "I always told him to go back to it, it has so much potential, I'm glad he shared it with you, at least." and she grips Abbie's arm. 

Abbie decides then she likes Chantal, she really does. She's true blue and is so eager to be a friend. To reach out. Abbie reaches back. "What was it like, being an only child?"

Chantal blinks in shock. "You know, no ones ever asked me?"

"I'm asking," Abbie invites, and the two women sit there, trading stories about their childhood, so open and free, forging a new friendship. New, enduring bonds. Eventually they come back around to the music.

"Some of those harmonies aren't his," she says knowingly and Abbie ducks her head. 

"I was at…..(our) this place, last night, and I was just letting loose, you know? Needed some time to myself, and suddenly I was singing it, and trying to play it, and other chords came out," 

"I like it," Chantal says approvingly and then her eyes light up. "I have an idea"

"Oh?" Abbie asks with mock suspicion. 

"Abraham will love it, I'm going to help you score it out."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think Abraham's quite ready to rewrite it on his own yet. But, he trusts you, and I'm pretty sure he still trusts me, we're going to give this new version to him. It'll be easy, so quick, because it was, what, verse and chorus? don't move." Abbie sits there, flabbergasted as Chantal departs and reappears with laptop in hand opening up software and then begins to madly key in instructions. Abbie watches in fascination as notes begin to span the screen. 

"Can you play what you remember?"

And Abbie starts, finagling around harmonies she doesn't quite remember and then throws another new one in, accidentally. 

"Hey, no composing," the other woman teases as she rewinds Abbie's recording. "Listen, you played a seventh here, and you just played a sus 4"

Abbie laughs. "I don't know what that means!" 

Chantal shakes her head, giggling too. "Okay, this might take slightly longer than I thought." 

But Chantal didn't get her degree in theory and composition for nothing, so aside from Abbie's impromptu improvising, and some brief debates over which chord they like better, the one she invented on the recording, or the one she invented, just now they finish, astonishingly quickly. Abbie is in awe. 

"I've been doing this for years," she supplies, rising happily. "I'll go print this and be right back," she turns and Abbie catches a glimpse of her hair from the back. 

"Hey, who did your hair?"

Chantal's hand flies up to her crown, "Oh! Orion twisted my hair last night---I know I know, I was surprised too. I just pinned it up this morning," she explains, not bothering to account for why on earth Orion had been playing in her hair. The printer isn't far away and Chantal returns again in a jiffy. 

"Alright, let's give this a go, shall we? I'll play, you sing?"

"What---no I wasn't planning on---" but Chantal has already begun the intro that they crafted together, the music is already life and calling and Abbie answers, she starts to sing. 

*************************  
"You're doing, very well, Mr. Crane. Are you sure you don't want to take a rest?"

It's only been five steps. But he's so tired. And they have warned he should continue to take it easy.

"Yes. I, I just wanted to see my friend tonight. He's on that talent show. I wanted to be there,"

The nurse smiles at him. " we can arrange for someone to take you, but you're not ready to be released just yet." 

**************************  
Abraham knows his music. And he knows Chantal's playing, a surging deliberate touch, always a little heavy on the bass, but always very driven. And he knows Abbie's voice.

But the combination of the three, stops him in his tracks as he follows the tune to the open door. 

"What have we got here?"

Both women spook, a clamour of wrong notes and Abbie's voice chokes off in a squeak. They both look over at him with the most guilty look on their faces. 

"Chantal?" he probes. 

"Bear," she greets. "Abbie and I were just…..looking over your song…..for Eddie?"

For the first time it occurs to Chantal and Abbie that MAYBE they have been wrong to assume Abraham would appreciate their tampering. 

"Abbie?" he asks next. 

"I just started singing it last night, at The Archives, and I had just wanted you to hear me sing it, and I asked the staff to record it, and I came in here to play it through and---"

"It was a surprise for you, Abraham," Chantal answers quietly. "She wanted to surprise you. I offered to help. Abbie, it was a pleasure talking to you, a joy working with you on this song for our mutual dear friend. I hope we can do it again,"

"Same here," Abbie nods as Chantal makes a quiet and graceful exit. "I think I'm gonna invite her to the wedding," Abbie says after she's left. "She's really nice,"

"Well do I get to hear it?" he asks suddenly. 

"Hmm?"

Abraham nods to the music that Chantal left on the piano. 

"Weren't you listening outside?"

"You gonna sing my song or what?" he demands, eyes glittering and Abbie shakes her head. 

"Fine. But take it slow."

And they play the song. They make music. They let go in this way because they don't trust themselves otherwise.

They pretend they are still, good, moral people with a momentary lapse in judgement. 

That they wouldn't go back to that brief moment on the brink and say to hell with the consequences, if they could. 

Though, they might still, yet. 

********************************  
"Meet your two finalists! Macey Irving and Abraham Van Brunt! Student and teacher! Professor and Pupil go head to head next week in our final round of Seven, Sleepy, Stars! Good night and sleep tight every one!" Axel Waters declares. 

Abraham halts in the lobby, eyes watering. "You came?" and his voice sounds whispery and hoarse in disbelief as he bends down to Ichabod in the chair. 

"Congratulations, Abraham" Ichabod murmurs, clapping him on the back.

"You shouldn't even be here,"

"I'm headed back to the hospital now. I just had to be here for you. I'm taking full credit by the way, I think you owe it all entirely to the new guitar," he smirks.

"Thank you, Ichabod, for coming, even in your state."

Ichabod chews his lip, reaches for Abraham's hand, clasping it between his own. "It's the very least I could do, Abraham. The very least I could do,"  
***************************  
Abbie is just turning away from the many screens when Andy appears in the room behind her. "Brooks,"

"Luke's waiting downstairs," he says coldly.

"Be down in a few," 

************************  
Orion drums his fingers impatiently on his desk. 

"There isn't supposed to be a finale next week," Luke hisses, jabbing an accusing finger in Orion's direction. "You were supposed to give her the contract!"

"She's gonna sign, but Abbie does nothing before she's ready. You, her fiancee," Orion drawls, voice dripping with contempt. "Ought to know that. Tell me, is this desperate brand of devotion you've been offering her serving you well? Because it looks pathetic on my end."

"No one asked for your opinion,"

"No but you did ask for my help,"

"Enough," Chantal snaps, eyes flickering between them. "Abbie is a human being capable of charting her own path. I know you mean well, Luke, and I encouraged it, embrace her, support her, but I think we both know she wouldn't appreciate your interference. And you, Orion, in your twisted obsessive way, but Abbie's voice and talent is not YOURS to command and you have no claim to it just because you were her musical first." She levels her gaze with each of them. "You're going to drive her away. You're both going to lose her if you don't stop getting in her way."

Luke slams the door on his way out, reaching the lobby seconds before Abbie does, and then ushers her out the door so quickly. And Abbie is weary. She is fried from being out so late and on the go all day, so she lets Luke call the shots for the evening. And luckily he has nothing more in store for her than a quiet evening at his apartment, and he rubs her feet, and smooths her hair, and she falls asleep in his arms. 

And Luke recalls Chantal's words as he watches her there, her brow furrowed even in slumber. And he relaxes his hold on her, just, a little, bit.   
****************************  
Jenny did not go to the show tonight. She has no taste nor stomach for music or well wishing. She stares instead at the array of things Hawley has decorated the house with over the years, the tapestries that decked the walls, the paintings and sculptures and rugs, each with its unique story, each telling of a journey and hardship that crafted the man that literally stumbled into her life in a market stall. 

Jenny remembers those nights right now and the tears come and she hates this, she loathes it so much she wishes she could make her tear ducts vanish. Wishes that everything would stop hurting so much and she can't believe it, she can't believe that anything could hurt this badly---is this what Abbie felt? she wonders as she fondles one of the figures on the mantle. Is this the clawing awful thing that keeps digging in deeper and deeper that Abbie had endured alone? How did she stand it? Was this what the grief had been on Abbie's end? Was this the depth of the heartbreak when she was left behind by Crane?

In one night these sisters have switched. Abbie knowing the cold loneliness of a sister who won't open up. Jenny the devastating crater of a love that pulled the rug out from under her feet. 

If she ever sees him again she'll kill him, if he ever dares to dream that after what he did, what he put her through----

and you? didn't you punish him too? didn't you make him serve time with you? No one chose that but you, Jenny. And how could you not? She's your sister, of course you want to be there, and of course he understood, he just loved you too much to continue tearing you apart. 

We never argued about it. I didn't----

You did. her mind counters. You always knew, you just hoped you could distract him. Do you not think, that each of those rejections, no matter how small and understated, had hurt him? That, at last, your sister is getting married, and the poor fool thinks to himself, Finally, finally Abbie is going to be alright, she's going to be okay and Jenny will be free, the wedding is mere days away and only for you to once more refuse him and tell him no? Abbie has always been your excuse, what is it now? Why does he have to keep threatening to run away, for you to call him back?

We've been the same for so long, so familiar-----

And since when, do you, Jennifer Mills, take refuge in the familiar? 

Jenny swears she hears her mother's voice in that instant.

Since when do my brave daughters, cower from the world? No child of mine, she'd say. No Mills woman has ever been weak of heart. Do better Jenny. And you tell your sister too, Mama says be BRAVE.

Jenny sinks to the floor, sprawling herself on the rug. Just so happens its one of the ones Nick had bought from her, so many years ago. She'd been brave then. Surely she can remember how to be that again, now.  
***********************  
It's two days later. 

Ichabod has been released. Abraham brings him to the place where it began on the lecture hall steps. He watches this reunion, this moment when their eyes rove over the other in silent fascination. And then he is keenly aware of their eyes tracing back to him. They are all a part of this, too interwoven and connected. 

"Ichabod?" Crane nods.

"Abbie?" she nods. 

"Whatever happens today. You will always have me, the both of you." They nod again in understanding. "I hope you give him a piece of your mind." he directs at Abbie. "And I hope will…..make it right, Ichabod? Somehow I hope you can make this right,"

"That's the endeavour," he drawls and Abbie rolls her eyes, but she cannot conceal her smirk. 

Abraham fidgets, eying both of them. "I'll wait---"

"Don't you dare." Crane fires back. "I'll find my way home Abraham this is between Abbie and I"

"Crane,"

"He's right," Abbie says. "I don't like it, but, we're gonna have words. You don't need to endure that." she clasps his hand in hers, eyes shining. "Trust me, I'm gonna be alright," she assures him, and Abraham refrains from the embrace his arms ache for, denies his lips the skin they want to kiss. Not now. 

Then when?

Just. Not. Now. 

Oh, so in the event that Ichabod manages to turn her head entirely you're just going to stand back and watch----

I'll fight for her if there's one to be had, but this is Abbie's life, her choice. 

And Abraham is a patient man.

He casts one last glance over his shoulder as he descends the steps, gets in the car and sits a moment longer, seriously debating dashing back up those steps because Crane is bound to bungle it up, but no. He has shielded Crane for too long, and it's time he faces his errors, if he manages to ruin this further, that is his grave to dig. And Abraham will help him through it, because that's a friendship that weathers all storms, but he won't hold back Ichabod from taking this, his own step in finding himself. Oh, but how he prays Abbie will come through it unscathed. 

He'll come to blows with Ichabod if she doesn't. Most likely with pillows because he's still healing from his wound. 

Ichabod appraises her for a long moment, seated in the wheel chair, they are almost at eye level. Abbie watches him too, adjusting to this new vantage point, and finds herself, unprepared. She had thought she knew what she wanted to say, needed to, but she hasn't rehearsed how to start. What comes first, has even neglected, that Crane will have much to say of his own. A rustling sound draws her attention to his hands, shaking so hard, gripping a paper in them. She reaches for it but he pulls away. "No. No, I'm, I'm going to read, it." he lets out a rattling breath. "I hadn't quite imagined how we'd begin," he confesses. 

The admission startles a laugh from Abbie. She walks straight into his chair, miming bumping into it and letting herself crash onto the cement, lets her coffee go rolling and spilling down the steps. She looks up at him expectantly and Ichabod offers his hand. "A slight reversal, if I recall," 

Her eyes glitter but she refuses to break character. "I'm Abbie,"

Reminiscent tears creep up on him, twinkling in his eyes. "Ichabod Crane," he murmurs.

At last they are right where they started. Exactly how they began.


	54. The Truth of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Crane. 
> 
> Last call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The talk the talk the talk! 
> 
> I know it's short, and I apologize for that, but I think I've spent a decent amount of time just thinking about this passage, and I don't know that it would have made sense to be much longer?
> 
> They are two characters at a point of accepting who they were, who they are, how it affected eachother, and just being honest about what they feel, and acknowledging that they can still love eachother....in a different way.

Ichabod looks down at their clasped hands. Can years change so much? these hands have known so many different people, experiences. The fingers have twined in the long tresses of a wife and scratched the back of a lover. Have swung crutches, thrown punches. Have clawed faces, wiped tears. These are not the hands that once knew only the other. And if just these hands have changed so much, what of the man, the woman, attached to them? He thinks to release her.

She thinks to make him.

But nostalgia is unforgiving. 

So he holds on.

She lets him. Watches, as he reaches with trembling fingers for the paper in his lap, flicks is gaze to hers, licks his lips and opens his mouth. "I'm Sorry," he says. "It's not enough, but I'm sorry. For all I have done. For what I have been--yet, for all of our time together, Abbie, I--" he pauses collecting his thoughts. "I wasn't true to you, about who I am. I come before you now, ready to confess to who I was and who I have become. You deserve to know all of me, because you gave so much of you, and I repaid you with desertion. I'll reintroduce myself." the paper crinkles as he peers at it. It is merely a point of reference, he has all but memorized this speech.

"My name, is Ichabod Crane. I grew up scared, judged and punished by my father. And I snapped, violently. I attacked him with a knife. I developed increasingly dangerous behaviour and I was on route to landing myself in jail had it not been for Abraham. Had he not been determined not to lose me." He licks his lips. "Do not underestimate him, Abbie. He is gentle and kind hearted but he fights. He fights hard, he doesn't relent, doesn't give up. You might think him ready to let things be, but he will surprise you with his capacity to surge onwards. Once he makes up his mind, you will be hard put to escape him---and I am grateful that is the case. Abraham has saved me, countless, countless times." 

He shed light in my corners, she thinks. Put music in my ears. 

Ichabod continues. "I sought counselling, at his insistence, and I met Katrina there---and over the course, I learned, control, to be contained. Quiet. Proper. Sweet. Until you. I dared to be unbound with you. To be ungoverned. Abbie, you were so alive, so beautiful--"

So desperate to feel and have something to hold on to, I was alone then, after all. I was so eager---

"I don't know why it took me so long to know I loved you. But here is my truth. And I will tell it as if it were the past. I will forge a bond with you that my marriage will never match. I will fill Katrina's ears with you sin the summers I am away, too cowardly to sever ties with her for fear of being a monster. I will ignore her while I'm at school with you.I will always think of you. I will want you in ways my mind never understands until that night---our night together. I will taste you lips that night at last and drink them in. I will know your body and revel in it and be awake. I will come to my senses then that I desire you. And I will plead with you, still warm, soft and naked in my arms, to love me. To take the beast I am and help me be brave,"

"I'd…..I'd heard you," she confessed, tears in her eyes, remembering that night, when she had let her lids shut and thought of dark places instead of the declarations he murmured into her hair. 

Ichabod stops then, tears running down his face. He has suspected as much, for many years. Had thought it a twisting of his mind. Something conjured by his wretched psyche. "How could you? he asks, undone. "Abbie how could you hear me and turn away?

"I never got over it," Abbie says. "I was then and still am dealing with losing my mother. I never got over that shock she left that morning and didn't come. Just. Didn't. Come. Home. Our home. The home that made me everything I was and she wasn't in it, and that, it cut me so deep, and then Jenny left---I couldn't risk getting close to you only for you to leave. Which is exactly what I did. I wasn't so wrong in that, was I?"

His eyes blazing Ichabod pushes himself up from the chair. His legs work fine, it's a precaution only because they don't want him over exerting himself. He stands, full height, and he reaches for her and Abbie doesn't move. "I will spend ten years wishing you had answered me," he whispers. "But knowing, somehow, knowing, I wasn't enough for you, couldn't be. And when you refused to talk about it---I wasn't so wrong in that, was I?"

"I waited," she spits angrily. "Have you ANY idea how many days I waited, cried, waiting to hear word? Here I was, so desperate to keep myself safe from hurt and it damn well happened anyway. You think I didn't regret? I keep wondering if I'd told you, had asked you to stay. Raise this life with me---"

"Yes" he cuts her off, grabbing her face. "Yes yes yes Abbie, yes." he sighs. "But it's not as though I didn't suspect. I remember your eyes Abbie….and where your voice failed you your eyes did not and I left all the same. Had you spoken it---"

"You'd be accountable for hearing it,"

He gives a quick nod of his head. "But you did not and monster I am, I took the excuse and ran. But had I stayed---I cannot promise you would have healed me. I cannot promise I'd have made you happy,"

"But we were happy, weren't we?"

"we were," he concedes. "The happiest"

"How can you be so sure you'd have been a menace to me?" she demands, angry and dismayed with his cowardice. "You managed fine all those years and I never once saw you---"

"Unseen doesn't not mean it didn't happen," he snaps. "Recall anytime I called you too late at night. or 'didn't' go out when you were sick. I did. When you weren't able I went out and I let the rage have it's way on whichever fool I came across in a bar if they incensed me. But I was quick on my feet before authorities came, everytime---"

"Did I EVER know you Crane?" she pleads, freshly betrayed. 

"More than Katrina did, that I guarantee. But the part I spared you, I tormented her with, wrongly so"

"I was never the same Ichabod, Never. And you know what, that has been my fault in many ways. I've had chances to heal, people willing but I chose to hurt, thought I was dealing with it, because I of my pride,"

"Damn pride," he curses. "Pride so very rarely serves us well" He reaches into his coat and gives her the envelope. "Folly, foolish and stupid and I was a creep. Yes. But I daydreamed, in a far away world, that should we reunite---should it be confirmed,"

"Born," she utters softly.

"This was, for them. Money doesn't fix anything. And I know it would have been a poor consolation and years upon years too late. But I cannot tell you how many times I thought to leave but----"

"Fear made you stay" she finishes in understanding. "That's what stays. Fear makes us stagnant. Death makes us permanent. The things I've always longed for," Abbie chokes, fingers trembling around the envelope. "It's not a way to live. It's not"

"It isn't" he agrees and he crosses the scant boundary to her. He doesn't ask, because how can he possibly be more wrong now than he has been for so many years?

He kisses her.

It hurts.

The taste and texture and the familiarity, the sameness of it is staggerings. It's eerie, because in those cherished, tainted, forgotten years there has only been that one night of bewildering, overwhelming passions. Only that one time that they had allowed themselves the luxury of touch and taste. Of lips exploring, learning and memorizing the other. Trying so hard to feel and drowning out all else. But so fresh still, so familiar. So desperate. They both feel it, the hungry need, the memories it summons, and because this is the present, the inevitable that will follow. He pulls back, kisses her once more, softly, light. "I have always, will always love you Abbie. And for so long that night and after I have wondered how. But now I know. I beg your forgiveness, for all I have done. I am deeply sorry. Abbie, you will always have me, whether you want me or not remains to be seen, but as of now Abbie, I am giving you the farewell I owe you. With all of the words from my heart that I should have given you before. Knowing now the man who I AM and no who I tried to be. I thank you, Abbie for being all of yourself with me, it was a gift that I squandered. Thank you for being so raw and truthful in your hurt because it made me look at myself again, reinvigorated my journey to heal my wounds and now----" and here he stoops down, grimacing, a twinge of pain, but a dull ache, as he gets down on one knee. "Now, I am letting you go, to heal yours." he folds his arms around her so tight. 

He is parting ways with her now but it is so much kinder, so much more powerful and contains so much more honest love and good will Abbie at last breathes in deeply and holds him tight. 

They do not forget that he abandoned her once.

But they also do not forget that he has come back. 

And now, finally---there are many small burdens that we carry with us through life, releasing one to pick up another---but this one, this one at last. 

Abbie can let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want us to consider that Abbie had ALOT of trepidation/conflict about wanting to kiss Abraham, because she direly doesn't want to hurt him because Abbie is slowly but surely finding herself again, but she has no idea what that means, and she values him too much to mistreat him. 
> 
> And just....Crane's kiss is very different from that, means something else entirely.


	55. Promise and Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is just a few days before Abbie and Ichabod meet up, and some of the day of. 
> 
> Ichabod and Abe talk. Hawley shows up on the Mills doorstep. 
> 
> Jenny thinks it's time they sell the Mills childhood home.
> 
> Abbie has many doubts and finds something interesting in the envelope.
> 
> Abe gets a call from an old friend, asks Abe to do him a favour. 
> 
> And Abraham's too much of a good friend for his own, damn, good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy sigh* believe it or not I'm in a REALLY good place right now to wrap this up! Fingers crossed I'll have it done by Oct 1! 
> 
> please let me know your thoughts, comments are everything!
> 
> If I had to guess? in short chapters, prolly about 3 more. In long ones 2. Stay tuned! <3 <3 <3 :D

"Do you need help with the ramp?" Abbie asks, tentatively approaching his chair once he's settled back into it. 

"I'll be fine, Abbie," he clasps her hand once more and shakes it firmly. "Thank you for meeting with me." 

Abbie gives a quick nod, pockets the envelope that she hasn't peeked in yet. "Get home safe, Crane," 

"You too, Abbie."

****************  
There has not been an hour when he doesn't think about the almost kiss with Abbie. It comes back to him like a circuit. He is carrying on with his day, finishing up his music studio, teaching his students, preparing for the finale, when all of a sudden her face comes crashing at him, her breath ghosts across his mouth, his palms sweat with a memory too damn strong and that should be impossible but he has given up that fight. 

He has feelings for Abbie. He wants things with her. He wants her to be happy, to be whole, wants to give her comfort and kisses and to sing her to sleep at the end of a long day. He doesn't care who she's been, because it's who she is, and he would love to nurture the person she'll be tomorrow, but Abraham's feelings are of such that it overwhelms even his own selfish desires. It's so dedicated to helping her, guiding her, that it tells him, stand down, let her make her choices, let her know herself before you start making proclamations. Abbie has spent too long rent in two, do not be a stumbling block to her now. But another part, the part that rears it's head with surprising constancy and hisses at him, for once, Abraham, to hell with the consequences and go all in. Let it burn or let it grow but risk it all.

And Abraham has never been afraid of risks. Far from it, he's outgoing and adventurous and willing to explore. He's just always been very considerate of others. Invested. He is trying for the tenth time since leaving Abbie with Crane to stop imagining a civil conversation in which he tells her his feelings and she…..what. Breaks her engagement? is that what you want, Abraham? To destroy a relationship? what kind of jerk are you? Are you that man? really? The conniving sweet talker that sweeps a man's fiancee off her feet to jilt him at the altar? Is that who are, deep down? 

But Crane's interrupts him before he can answer these questions. "Ichabod?" he calls, head snapping up from where it was buried in his hands. 

"Abraham," he nods, wheeling himself over to his friend on the couch, puts himself in park and tosses his head.

"Well?"

Crane works his mouth, looking at him and then away. "I'll spare you details. But we…..there were many things said, brought to light. Some resolutions." he pauses, considering the next bit. "I kissed her," he admits at last.

Abraham sits stock still. He suspected that Ichabod would, truth be told. People often think that affection, lust, desire, are such hard things to conjure, but they are not. They are stimulus triggered, and the brain and heart reacts astoundingly to many forms of stimuli, grief, terror, pure hate can illicit a need to be held, comforted, tenderness, or because you cannot stand the human being to rough house them in a violently passionate manner. And leave alone past histories and happy times---he is not angry that Ichabod kissed Abbie, nor that she let him. There was something between them, and he can no more deny that than they could. He's about made up his mind now that he'll have to go head to head with Crane---and here we are again, back to that relationship ruining bit----Crane would do it, he's sure. Knowing Ichabod the way he does, worlds away from what he was, Crane is still highly capable of irrational passionate thought. He considers briefly that it might be high time he took a page out of his best friend's book. 

"Are you listening?" Ichabod presses. Abraham nods once. Ichabod clears his throat. "I gave her the forms, the documents for the money."

"So where do you stand now?" Abraham asks, waiting to hear Ichabod declare that he has done the one thing Abraham cannot yet, that he has made amends with Abbie, taken permanent residence in her heart and that the wedding is now off---but that confession never comes and instead Ichabod tosses his head back and gives Abraham a wry smile. 

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm not the one standing between you and Abbie, if there be something there," he looks pointedly at Abraham in a way that makes him maddeningly transparent. Like he knows all the inner workings of Abraham's mind and heart. And he should, seeing as Abraham knows him inside out. "In the event that there's still a wedding at all," Ichabod probes, "I have one last gift for her, I'd like to give it to her on the special day. Well wishing."

"Are you asking to come to the wedding with me?" Abraham gapes at him. He's got gall. 

"Well it's up to you at this point if there'll be one, but yes."

"What's unbelievable is that I'm not even surprised."

"You're not?"

"Have you met yourself?" Abraham laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're bonafide insane,"

Crane grins. "One of my more endearing character traits, certainly,"   
******************************  
He calls first. 

"What do you want Hawley," she snaps.

"Don't ask stupid questions Mills," he shoots back, just as aggressively. "You."

"The way you left here the other night I thought you were done with me,"

"After all this time you haven't figured out yet what a hard headed creature I am? What a love sick fool? Making up my mind where you're concerned is a circular argument. Can't have you but can't do without."

Jenny bites her tongue so she doesn't say she feels the same. The shock of that hurt he inflicted on her cut surprisingly deep, and now Jenny is about ready to move on to that damning stage where one starts building walls, stone by stone. But the ground is still unsteady, the earth hasn't settled enough for a new development, she has time to reconstruct those plans for a lovely sprawling enchanted place, instead of the trench and moat she has been direly tempted to build. "You had no right to do that to me,"

There's silence for so long that she thinks he's hung up. "If you're waiting to hear me say I'm sorry it's not coming," he replies softly. "I regret what I said but I'm not sorry---was anything I said not true?"

"I'd kick your ass if you were in this house with me." and then she grudgingly adds. "You…..(made some valid points) you tore me up you know that? I cried, Nick. You, you….you broke my heart. I didn't think you of all people would ever hurt me."

"I'm sorry Jennifer," he whispers. 

"You never call me Jennifer,"

"I've never been this sorry. I hurt you but I still love you Jenny. And I mean it, I want you."

"You (have) had me" she retorts calmly. "You're the one who walked."

"I'm not cut out for pretend, baby. If you want me to come back and carry on like I never wanted more for us, damn it I will because I love you and I'm like a man in the desert without water without you. But I'll always want it. And I might still ask. And I'll die a little every time you say no. I can't go on acting like it's enough, because it isn't, not for me. If you ask me everyday Nick, is this enough? I'll still tell you no and that's selfish and unfair and I'll own it. But I don't have the will to give you ultimatums Jenny."

"But then I'm supposed to live with knowing that I'm continually hurting you."

A sigh. "Got a better idea?"

"Come home, Nick. Yes. Come home." 

Nick pauses on the other end of the line, digesting. "Yes?"

"Come home," she intones.

"You said yes."

"To you coming home and me making you perpetually miserable."

"Jenny,"

"I'm not afraid of you, Nick. Never have been never will be, but I am scared of losing you. You made me realize that. I will miss loving you and being loved by you. I have enjoyed it and loved every second of it and yes, I…..I got in our way."

"I'm not trying to make you choose between me and Abbie. I'm really not."

"No, but you forced me to choose myself. What I want. And I want you, to get, your ass, home. And I'm not promising tomorrow or next year even but Yes, I want you, and yes I want as close to a forever as we can get. Yes because if you ever walk out on me like that again that I'm taking you to the cleaners in divorce court. I love you,"

Nick is quiet for a moment, savouring those words before he knocks on the door. Jenny opens with an expression of mild surprise. "Exactly where did you call from?"

"About a block back?" he squeezes past her dumping his bag on the floor. "You're home Jenny. No matter what I say and how we fight. No matter what tried, or did come between us, you're stuck with me. You're my definition of home," 

"Try eternal resting place. And I promise to haunt you should I pass first, but, Yes.(because I've always wanted to) Yes. (I always thought she needed me more) Yes(Because I'm a Mills) And Yes (And I love you) . Alright? Are we CLEAR?"

He grins at her, his eyes sparkling. No doubt he'll be proposing again by the end of the month, if not sooner. Though, this time, they have an understanding of what her answer will be. And it's Jenny's choice. She's come to grips with how she has let Abbie's fears become her own and dominate her life. She's letting herself be honest and kind to her heart. 

"Crystal,"   
******************  
Luke has entirely, effectively, monopolized Abbie's time. Every. Single. Spare. Moment. She thinks he's breathes when she does now, and it's not quite smothering but it runs a close second. He's always got her hand in his, his lips always seeking hers. As the day draws near his excitement, or perhaps anxiety, because surely Abbie isn't the only one feeling nervous? has kicked him into high gear. 

For brief periods, he unwittingly manages to make her forget. His presence keeps her anchored in the present and forces her to look ahead to their impending nuptials. Distracts her from letting her mind drift to shared breaths and almost kisses, but the moment that he relents, the moment that Luke disappears for a coffee or to the washroom, if she wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, it comes roaring back with a vengeance, Abraham's smell, his gentle hands, his lips on her forehead and how her wild heart had wanted more and it terrifies her. Every time it comes back it's a shock. So much so it renders her mute mid conversations, it keeps her up an extra ten minutes trying not to entertain the notion, not to let it dig roots. They'd barely spoken since he'd heard her new version of his song for Eddie, general life matters distracting them and Luke's exuberance chasing away almost, ALMOST every waking thought she might have of him. They'd been relegated to texting, so distant and cold compared to their usual pattern just enough said to arrange her talk with Crane. 

Besides which, there was something else entirely occupying her thoughts where her sister was concerned. After Jenny shut her out the house had become a vacant sort of place, no warmth and no laughter, they spoke, and whatever anger Jenny had was beginning to wane, but what she was dealing with then had been her heart break. She'd begun throwing out things, Abbie supposed, to purge, a cleaning distraction. 

But Hawley came back, she's positive it hadn't even been a week----and in the aftermath of a whirlwind reconciliation, ---And Abbie wished she knew how to resolve her own inner conflicts with such quick efficiency---Jenny and Hawley had decided it's time to 'sort through their wares' and have begun a ruthless, unrelenting purging process, much of which also includes Mama's left over belongings which makes Abbie's stomach churn. 

They had a sit down, day before she was meeting with Crane actually. she'd just gotten back from a jog with Luke. during which she told him about Orion offering her the contract, He had been suspiciously thrilled. 

"Did you hear me?" she had prod his arm as they slowed their pace. "Orion Angel, man who knocked you out couple of weeks ago? Him and I have a past?"

Luke merely turns a beatific smile her way, and she knows he means well, but the look doesn't suit him. "If music is what you want babe I'm behind you, one hundred percent,"

"Even if it's Orion?" she asked dubiously.

He'd hooked an arm around her waist and plastered a kiss on her cheek. "I love you, Abbie, and I am willing to do whatever it takes for you to be happy." And then, turning, had grasped her upper arms, leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. "Whatever. It. Takes." he'd said. Each word, weighted with warmth and love.

He'd walked her to the door, pecked her cheek, and then she had walked in and yelped at the disarray. At which point Jenny kindly informed her, that she thought it's time they sell. 

The house.

Their mother's house. 

"Sell?" Abbie had gasped. "Sell? Are you nuts?"

"You put a down payment on the Frederick place, did you forget? You won't even be living here"

"But, Jesus, sell mama's house Jenny?"

"You talk as if she's still here to own it. It's our house. Ours to do with what we please."

"Jenny,"

It's us. Our lives. Our past. 

Damn it this house, it's ME. 

And overwhelmed and irritated with the sudden malice Jenny seems to have developed for a place that they have for so long called home, Abbie has distanced herself utterly in every way she can manage. Unbeknown to Luke he had been proving a perfect distraction in more ways than one.

Now she gets in her car and only then opens the envelope and gasps at the sum of money. "Holy hell," she mutters. "What am I supposed to do with all of this, huh Crane?"her fingers tremble as she turns the page to find another one and her body seizes with the unfathomable, unbelievable information before her. 

It's not the money, it's less than what Crane had saved, it's the name on the account and who it's been left to. Her and Crane. 

There's a second set of papers as she flips through with Ichabod's signature, officially relinquishing his control over the account and to Abbie, all she needs to do is sign but Abbie cannot wrap her mind around how this happened, why this happened, what on earth does it mean? She keeps reading the name, over and over again. 

Katrina Crane.   
***********************  
Abraham is battling with picking up the phone to call Abbie to hear her version of things, with Ichabod observing him over his cup of tea. "If you frown any deeper your face will stick"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you,"

"It would amuse me," Ichabod muses, smirking over his cup. "Listen Abraham. If after all that I"VE Done, I made it home whole, surely you can dial Abbie and talk to her, before it's too late. I hope you're not planning on making a fool of yourself on the wedding day, it's a horrible cliche. This isn't a……"

"Rom-com?" Abraham offers with a rueful smile. 

"Just call her,"

"Shouldn't I give her a moment? to recover from meeting with you?"

"Am I so tedious?"

"You're trying my patience now, Ichabod," he laughs. 

Crane shrugs, rises from the chair and begins making slow progress to his room. "well you've told me. I'll leave you to handle this then. Just, Abraham?" 

He rolls his eyes. "YES Ichabod?"

"I've never known you to be a quitter. Steadfast, true, loyal and fight tooth and nail for those you care about. Always caring about others. Caring about me. Do me a favour?"

Abraham's gaze slides to Crane who has paused leaning on the wall. "Do you need help?" he asks, approaching him but Crane waves him off. 

"I'm fine." he snaps. "Do me a favour."

"What."

"Be a reckless selfish man for once. You don't have much time,"

Abraham watches his best friend shuffle down the hallway and then goes back to the task at hand, staring at the phone. Alright, he thinks, alright. He's about to dial when the phone rings and he drops it. Cursing to himself he glances at the number and answers. 

"Daniel? Daniel Reynolds?"

"You've been doing good my man, I've been watching you on that show."

"How've you been? you were in Rio, last time we spoke?"

"Business is booming, as usual, and I'll tell you about Riot later" he chuckles. "But I need a favour man. I'm in town doing a bachelorette in a few days."

Already, Abraham is sure he doesn't like where this is going. "One of my dancers is sick. Nasty sick man. I need a fill in. "

"Meaning…."

"Well, do your tear away trunks still fit?"


	56. Black Magic II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finale night of the Seven Sleepy Stars Show, as well Orion Chantal bonding, Abbie's realizations.
> 
> Black Magic performance. 
> 
> And the horrible fears creep up on Abbie one last time.
> 
> And this is necessary.

Macey is still stunned that she has come this far as she works furiously at the piano. Singing day in and night. Frank and Cynthia are astounded by the growth they have seen in their daughter in this short span of time. Her piano playing has flourished under Abraham's instruction, but her voice, has been another matter entirely. The first week it had been sweet and charming, but the second, when she'd been coached by Chantal, a new beautiful sound had appeared, a sparkle glittered in her eye and had stayed there since. Macey had captured that stage as if she was strolling across it, every gesture, even turn of chair had been so purposeful and right. The transformation was beautiful if not frightening to see. 

Everything about this journey for Macey has been unexpected and far from their aspirations. They loved her playing, but their daughter had never demonstrated any desire for performing. They'd assumed she'd go into literature, or if she stayed in music, concert pianist---still decently immersive or a teacher. Not wanting full command of a stage, not wanting character and energy and all of those other amazing things that had sprung up in Macey in these past weeks. They sincerely hoped, that if by chance, she didn't win, that it wouldn't somehow result in a setback. 

Watching Macey take flight has been a rewarding and wonderful experience for them all. And while the art world is unpredictable, they hope Macey will be courageous enough to pursue, if it's what she wants, after all.

Tonight is it. Tonight there will be One Sleepy Star. 

And the other would say goodnight. 

*****************  
Chantal is singing. Opera, because that is the genre her voice flourishes in. She's singing an aria from Samson et Delilah by Saint-saens. Just singing it, because she loves that one and knows it by heart, there's no music, just her. Tonight is the finale, Macey and Abraham performed well the night before, and deep down even Chantal was at stalemate and she felt that most voters had to be as well, they'd both been so stunning, so emotional, she wonders if its possible that the competition might end in a tie. At any rate, the stage is empty, and she's got time to kill, she has got up on the stage and she's enjoying herself, Chantal doesn't need an audience, she just likes singing in big acoustic spaces. 

Orion is striding down the halls of the building, headed toward his office because he's got some paperwork to fill and with the show wrapping soon he has some particulars to sort out for the tour he'll be sending the winner on etc but stops short at the foreign, captivating voice that reaches him. 

He peeks in room after room and grows increasingly more baffled as following the sound takes him not to the practice rooms but down to the hall, through the double doors and down rows and rows of seats to the stage, dimly lit, where Chantal is singing. 

She tips her head imperceptibly to acknowledge his entrance but she clearly has no interest in interrupting herself. She's enjoying this song too much, the look on her face tells him she's probably nearing the good parts. 

Orion is alien to Opera. Has always been. Broadway isn't such a hard bridge to cross, though he's certainly not suited for it, but Opera is another league entirely. Can't speak another language for his life. If he had to hazard a guess he would suppose she's singing french? lot's of 'couer's and 't-avois' She reaches this part where there's this lovely, gentle, sighing motif, it's up, hold, cascade down, and up, hold, cascade, and the delivery of it is so tender, so involved. "Samson, samson, je t'aime," she finishes and pauses before blinking and smiling. 

"Hey."

"Hey?" Orion gasps. "Tally, that was, amazing. Why haven't I ever heard you sing before?"

"Oh you've heard me sing Orion."

"Not, not that, Tally. It's gorgeous. Couldn't understand a lick of what you were saying, but it didn't matter," he grins. "I wish you'd sing like that more,"

Chantal shakes her head bemusedly. "Uh oh. I know that Angel sparkle. You're not thinking of signing me now, are you? I know that 'i've got a golden ticket' glimmer in your eye. You get it whenever you've found new talent with 'heart'" she air quotes "that you want to share with the world" 

Orion raises a brow at her. She knows him. He would be lying if he said none of those thoughts flickered through his brain, but the sharing with the world? No. No, he doesn't have any desire for anyone else to hear Chantal sing like that but him. "I wouldn't share you, Chantal," he says simply as he approaches the stage, takes a seat front row and centre. 

A look of confusion crosses her face. "What…."

"Could you sing it again? or another one?"

She hesitates. "I mean, of course I could,"

"Please do," he nods. 

Chantal keeps giving him strange looks while she flips pages upon pages of music in her brain and comes to a rest on her very first aria, a big energetic thing by Mozart. 

Orion listens, rapt. Merely listening and enjoying the way Chantal morphs in that split second into another person. For once he has no thoughts about music, no tweaking this, or altering that or how they would market or any of that nonsense. He simply enjoys her singing. 

Sits there, enjoying her. 

She is aware of Orion's eyes on her the whole time. She is also aware that while she had been waiting to be seen, she never expected it could make her sweat this much.   
*********************  
Before the show Luke had found Orion in his office, poring over his calendar, rearranging meetings and trying to find time for a short trip, because he'll need to take off as soon as the winner is crowned if he's going to be in time for---the door opens and he looks up, makes a disgruntled sound at Luke's appearance.

"What happened Angel, there isn't supposed to be a finale, that's supposed to be Abbie's deal tonight"

"Didn't we have this conversation? Look, I hold to my word, I'll give Abbie a contract regardless of whether or not she takes this one. If she wants it. You'll just have to do without the spectacle of if happening on tv. Alright?" he puts his pen down. "You really love her, do you?"

Luke stares him down. "I would do anything."

Orion considers this before asking him to leave so he can finish getting himself together. "Take care of her then," he says sadly. "Do right by Abbie,"   
*********************

They are all there. Ichabod, Jenny, Nick, the Irving's, Calvin, Chantal and Orion. Andy is watching the doors. Abbie is holed up in the surveillance room. Abraham and Macey are on the stage, with all of the other contestants, they have just finished a rousing mashup of the summer hits. It is the last number of the night, they've all had one final chance to shine on stage but now, with mere ten minutes on the clock, Axel Waters reads out the award that will go to the winner. 

"A recording contract, three hundred thousand dollar prize, an international tour……"

Abraham grips Macey's hand on the stage. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You're going to be brilliant on tour,"

Macey glances up at him, eyes glittering. "IF I win,"

"I'm positive that I'm not going to----"

"And your, First, Sleepy, Star, is, ABRAHAM VAN BRUNT!!!!!!"

Confetti rains down around them, the show theme blares through the hall. Abraham staggers with the news. He's honestly shocked. After hearing his most excellent student perform the night before, he was sure she'd win. He opens and closes his mouth, still in disbelief as a surge of people crowd onto the stage to congratulate him. 

He looks down at Macey, shell shocked, afraid to see disappointment in her eyes but she's beaming at him and screaming at the top of her lungs. "You did it!" she yells amid the racket. "You did it!!!" 

It's taking so long to register, that he still fails to be coherent as Ichabod managed to amble on stage, with Chantal and Orion's help. He locks an arm tight around Abraham's shoulder. "Well done," he whispers fiercely, and there are tears in his eyes. "My God Abraham this is, this is your dream. Congratulations, I'm so proud of you" he managed to hug Ichabod back, and next there's Chantal.

"Bear!" she throws her arms around him, rocking him from side to side. "I'm so, damn, happy for you!" she plants a kiss on either cheek between her words before drawing back and pinching him. Jenny and Nick congratulate him, the Irving's too are so supportive and happy. Luke shakes his hand, and Calvin takes picture after picture. Orion approaches last, shaking Abraham's hand and angling him to look at the crowd and the camera. 

"I give you your First Sleepy Star!" Orion roars triumphantly, throwing Abraham's hand up in the air, but it is still all so surreal, he cannot believe this is happening. 

"Abraham," Axel Waters asks. "A few words?"

"I'm shocked." he says simply. "I wanted this and it's been such an amazing journey, but I've been so lucky to make it this far, and I'm so proud, of everyone here, especially Macey, she has surpassed everything anyone might have thought possible and I…..she deserved to win," he says.

Macey interrupts. "But I'm THRILLED, that my musical mentor got the honour. this has been amazing and I've discovered a love for performing I never had before. Congrats!" she yells again and Abraham bends to hug her. 

Upstairs Abbie can't rush down to throw her arms around him the way she wants. She can't cling to him tight with her joy and happiness and celebrate him. She must stay here and watch until the building is clear.   
*************************  
Predictably, Abraham is assaulted by media once they go off air, he has interviews to do and so many appearances already lined up and Abbie just catches the backs of them as they're going. She thinks to call out to him, detain him just a moment but she fears the watchful lens of all those less discriminatory, polite photographers and television personalities. They are not all Calvin Riggs, who would spare her the spectacle and pretend not to see. For Abbie to step into that media fray would warrant introductions and questions and prying that she's not up to. What she wants for that moment with Abraham is not public content. 

She's had two hours during this finale to be alone with her thoughts to ruminate on the past few weeks and it's clear, she has allowed herself to buffer and refuse and bury it under all of her other concerns, the house selling, her cold feet, but Abbie has feelings for Abraham, and she needs to tell him. She needs to stop all of this, but the wall of people is too thick. She watches helplessly as he's whisked out the door by their friends and the crush of newly born 'VanFans' following him. The incessant chatter and shutter click of cameras. 

Her heart sinks. This is his world now. Abbie's heart aches. She listens to it now. She hears it keen in despair. All of your trepidation, hesitation, and fear, all of your safe guarding and taming of the beast, all of your walls and darkness, and now, look what you've done, Abigail Mills. 

You've lost Abraham Van Brunt. 

And your bachelorette starts in an hour. Jenny, Chantal and Cynthia come back from outside, Abraham has presumably been whisked off to a studio or restaurant or whatever for more celebrating but they've all come back in because it's time to get ready to celebrate something else entirely. The end of her single hood. 

"Come on," Jenny grins wickedly, gripping her arm. Chantal had been shocked to receive the invitation a few days ago, but Abbie had been insistent, saying in the short span of time, she'd been unbelievably sisterly to her. Warmed by the sentiment, Chantal had agreed. 

But this was all before Abbie had been SURE, as sure as she is now, that she's making a mistake. But the fight has gone out of her, she has all but accepted defeat that Abraham's new life has no room for her. He'll be so tied up for who knows how long while he goes into production and zipping to and fro for interviews, he'll have forgotten her by the time he gets back. Fame changes people, she thinks sourly. He might not even be the same man when he returns, if he ever does. She begins to cry. 

"Abbie?" Jenny pauses as they get in the luxury car Jenny hired. "Abbie?"

"I'm getting married tomorrow! Abraham won!" she laughs, forcing a smile, as if she's just overcome with all of the good news. "Happy tears!"

The three women exchange a glance but don't know quite what to say. "We're here for you," is what comes out instead, which they hope is enough, they hope it's enough assurance that Abbie can confide in them. "It's all about you now and your day tomorrow, Abbie, we're with you, every, step, of the way," 

And not for the first time, Abbie senses that they are alluding to something else entirely apart from her wedding. The way Luke had vowed to do whatever it takes to make her happy. 

The way Crane had let her go.

"We need to stop and change, anyway, get a couple drinks," Jenny cuts into her thoughts. "It's gonna be a good night, Abs, trust me,"   
**********************  
"Cheers," Orion clinks his glass with Abraham's in the limousine as they head to a club but Abraham fidgets and checks his watch. "Got somewhere to be?" he asks and Abraham furrows his brow. 

"I didn't expect to win, honestly. I….I've an old friend in town, I made plans to help him,"

"Abraham," Orion stretches to encompass the space around them. "Look around, you're kicking off your music career, I think he'd understand,"

"we go back," Abraham replies tersely. "One of my close friends from university. I'm the only back up he has, knows the choreography---"

That peaks Orion's interest. "Choreography?"

Abraham flushes. "I didn't expect to win." he reiterates. "I…..I use to dance, way back when," he grumbles. Orion leans forward in his seat. 

"Yes, and?" 

"For….money….."

He braces himself for ridicule but is met instead by Orion's hearty guffawing. "A stripper? you were a stripper?"

"Not stripper, it wasn't always…..scantily clad, we had good dance moves, we got really popular----I can't believe I'm telling you this,"

"I'm your producer now, Van Brunt. No secrets here."

"Let's just say I stopped, and he's back tonight doing a show and he needs me to fill in for a sick dancer." 

Orion keeps watching him with the most irritating look of amusement on his face. "Just, tell me, completely confidential and I'll excuse you from all the other hoopla tonight so there won't be any fall out, but….what's the troupe called?" he snickers. 

Abraham knocks back the rest of his drink and gestures for Orion to pour him another. "Black Magic," he grunts, throwing that one back too. He's going to feel that later, but considering what he's about to do maybe being a little inebriated isn't such a bad idea. 

Orion blinks, his face an impossible expression of recognition. "I know that act. Chantal mentioned it once, said she has a friend who---"

"One and the same," he explains. "We were all great friends, and, I'm doing him a favour. I agreed to it before I knew I'd WIN. Because,----"

"You stupid shit for friends, I hear ya, well, where's the spot? I'll drop you off so you can…..stretch and limber up for your performance tonight." Orion swirls his drink, shaking his head in bemusement. "What a night. Well I'm going to celebrate hard on your behalf then. Another toast."

Abraham raises his glass. 

"To singing your ass off. And to shaking your ass too," and then Orion cracks up.   
**************  
They stuff her into a black mini dress and a white sash that Abbie promptly ditches the moment they finish taking pictures back at the house. They're all wearing black and making silly faces because they've had a few drinks by now, perhaps more than wise on Abbie's part but she needs to drown out the voice in her heart that keeps crying out she's let something precious go. That she hesitated and now she is too late. She's loose and limber enough now to be stupid and messy, which is what she feels like being right now, and under the guise of a bachelorette party, they'll excuse her tonight for being messy. She thought, before the first shot went down to a round of enthusiastic whooping, that perhaps she should tell them right now the wedding is off, that she can't marry Luke. That she should call him, now at his own celebrations with Andy---wonder how that's going---she thinks bitterly, and confess she can't take the aisle. But then she'd swallowed, and her thoughts went back to Abraham, and the mess she's made, and she had another, and then another, and one more, and logic and rational thought skipped out the door. 

And fear tiptoed back in. The wretched, disgusting thing crept back in and double-checked the cage to make sure her heart hadn't escaped and put it's feet up on a chair. 

Marry Luke. It says calmly, logically. This whole thing with Abraham has been a mistake. Luke's the one you need, he's known you for years. You're not stupid enough to take that sort of chance are you? those sort of risks? not you, Abigail Mills, you're not wild and carefree. Let Abraham go.

Abbie cheers and caws with the others as they get in the car towards the destination. Her mind tells her, enjoy yourself. Marry Luke. Let Abraham carry on with his life, and you'll carry on, with yours. 

Thump thump thump. Abbie hiccups, it's the booze, she thinks, but it's her heart, prowling around, enraged that it's being so heavily guarded once more. 

Let this pass. It soothes as Abbie sings along with others to the music pumping through the speakers, takes in the smiling faces of her sister and friends. One old and one new. Don't fight. 

Thump, thump, thump.

But her heart tells her--

No.   
****************  
"Congrats man!" Daniel greets him at the venue, wrapping his arms around him. "I saw you on the drive in! You're album is gonna be awesome!"

"Thanks Daniel," he smiles, forgetting his earlier doubts because, it's sometimes too good to see old friends, and memories are unrelenting, he remembers the good times, the mischief, even though their lives had taken them in vastly different directions. "I can't believe that you called me for this though,"

Daniel shrugs. "We use a lot of the same steps. And it's a bachelorette, and you always gave the bride a good time,"

"Nearly, ten years ago," he hisses as Daniel leads him behind a stage where some other men, are all putting on their costumes, varying, scantily dressed versions of crooks and robbers. "Policewoman bride," Daniel explains as he hands him a mask and pants. "We've got some new tracks though, but you're a quick study."

Outside Abbie stumbles in with the others and is greeted by applause and more shrieking. Jenny had invited women from the precinct and some of her own friends. Behind the curtain, in a hokey black robbers mask, flimsy striped tops and clingy black pants, Abraham's hair stands on end at the sound of the crowd. "What the hell was that?" Daniel hands him a shot.

"For your nerves, man. Like you haven't been performing for the world for three weeks."

"That was singing, something I've been practicing, staying up to par on. I haven't done---" Daniel performs a body roll and Abraham groans in misery. "That, I haven't done….THAT in ages!"

"It's like riding a bike man, you never forget." he flaps his hand dismissively and peers through the curtain. He's dressed like a common pick pocket, threadbare gloves and all. "Must be the bride," he says. Abraham joins him for a look, but he can't see for the crowd around the woman, not to mention the lights on the stage are too bright. And the stupid mask, the wholes are cut too shallow, he can barely see Daniel's whole face. The corners are blind spots too.

"Don't worry," Daniel assures him as he starts rounding them all up into their spots. "You do your thing with the bride for the solo spot." he winks. "You'll get a good look at her then,"

"Oh is that right?" Abraham grumbles as he wedges himself between the other men and the music begins. "Smooth Criminal, really Daniel?" he chuckles. 

Dead serious," he laughs back as the curtains draw back and the announcer declares their presence. 

"Welcome ladies! We're here for----" the raucous applause and whistling drowns out the announcer out"----bachelorette! Tomorrow she walks down the aisle but tonight she walks down dark alleys, with the sexiest, most dangerous, criminals to ever, prowl the streets. I give you, Black Magic!" 

Abraham will be loath to admit this later on, but Daniel had been right. That or the shot was really hitting him, but it was easy, perhaps too much so to fall in the pattern of slinking and twisting across the stage. Wasn't so hard to remember how that floor work went, undulating on the ground, the image of an imaginary lover that he was really showing a good time. All he really had to do was let go of the present and go back to when they'd first started out and the women were going wild. The next routine was to Nick Jonas's Chains, something else came on with heavy bass. At one point he got to take a breather while the others did some complex moves involving women from the audience who screamed at the top of their lungs. Another routine done to Talking Body, and then Daniel threw some Soca music in there song called My Love by Kes the Band, an upbeat grooving rhythm something perfect for grinding at a party, for HIS Solo spot which Abraham shot him a dirty look for, but out Abraham went as the women thrust the bride to be on the stage. They sat her down, facing away from him and he began whining his way towards her, trying to find the rhythm, being aware that he should be giving the women watching a show too as he snapped his hips and rippled his abs to great cheers of approval. 

Abbie sits there, drunk, giddy because of the party atmosphere, messy, miserable because there's a dull awareness beneath the haze that she's bemoaning her own stupid fickle heart and poor decisions. She should have found a way out of this weeks ago, she shouldn't have held onto this pain for so many years, letting it confuse her to this extent. But you can't heal before you're ready. And Abbie had never reached the conclusion that she really, truly had feelings for someone other than her fiance, simply had not allowed herself to contemplate it fully and commit to the idea, until tonight. And now he was launching a music career and this new path would always take him away from her, no matter what now and---the sensation of the dancer gliding his hands up her arms would normally have made her shiver with disgust, wanting to flee, but in her state, in her self absorption she lets herself relax into this folly. Even as he parades around before her, gyrating for the women, and the song is alright, so she moves a bit in her chair, bobbing her head and watching the dancer only because she's supposed to, not because she wants to, even though she has to admit his moves are impressive. When he spins around, thrusting in her direction she almost laughs at the absurdity of it until she looks up. 

Through the slits in the mask, she glimpses eyes that are so like Abrahams, and when he reaches for her hand, pulling her to her feet, twirling her around playfully on the stage, it's too fluid, too familiar. Jenny shrieks her approval from the front. Cynthia sips from her drink, highly entertained. Chantal pales. She doesn't like that she recognizes those moves, knows that walk. She face palms. God Abraham, No. she thinks.

The dancer withdraws for a second, tearing his shirt in two, wrapping it around Abbie's waist to pull her closer then twirls her away for again, long enough to rip off his trunks----to more noise---and resumes his routine until Daniel's voice cuts in.

"This Thief is trying to steal the bride's heart, but I think she's onto him, I think she'd better give him a search and haul him in!" 

There's something wrong. There's something wrong with Abbie that she feels the way she does right now, playful, familiar, intrigued. Maybe because she's pretending this masked stranger is the man she let get away, maybe she's allowing herself this small fantasy, so when she begins running her hands along his arms and abs, and flicks her gaze up to his, she imagines his breath catches the way it did once, when she'd pecked him on his birthday. She imagines his jawline is familiar and leans up close to it, almost kissing him there, the way she had done, mere days ago.

Abraham goes still inside. He has been going through the steps, the routine, doing his part, and it hadn't occurred to him, until she was performing her 'search' that the smell of her perfume hit him, the scent of her hair, and right when her eyes flicker to him, he recognizes them, all too well. And he realizes now why her hands felt so familiar and right and belonging in his. Why their little dance was natural as breathing, why for a second he'd forgotten they were on stage. Shame floods through him. 

This is obscene. He is performing at the bachelorette party of the woman he----

His gaze pierces her and shatters Abbie's drunken reverie. Her eyes focus. "Abraham?" she gasps, quiet, frightened, but their is something like relief, dare he say joy? that flickers there a moment before the impossible spectacle they're in dawns on her. They can't stop dancing, he can't break character, someone will know something has gone wrong, that this isn't part of the show. So Abraham whispers back, breath raspy and his nerves running rampant. 

"Finish the search," he hisses. Shaken Abbie continues patting him and shooting flirtatious glances over her shoulder at her friends watching and then skips off the stage. Abraham gives a few more shimmies before he disappears behind the curtain and hunts for his pants. Regular ones. 

"Where you going we've got one more number," Daniel asks, concern written across his face. 

"I can't be here," he answers, whipping the stupid mask off and scanning for his shirt.

"You did great, I thought the beat would throw you, but it was good, fun, sensual, I think she enjoyed herself"

"Well that's because we know each other," Abraham bites out, tossing aside tank tops and leather and…..please say that isn't a thong. 

Daniel wiggles a finger in his ear. "Come again?"

"I know the bride!" he rasps furiously. " Her and I……it's complicated and I can't be here. I'm sorry Daniel I've got to go," at last laying hands on his shirt he grabs his shoes and storms out the back door. The evening is cool and it chills him suddenly, but he needs that, he needs to clear his head and he walks smack into someone. "Sorry, sorry---Abbie,"

Abbie looks up at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. She's still pretty tipsy, she's still a little wound up from that dance, still feeling what she assumes is heart break, anxiety and despair but overriding it all at present is the confusion. And that confusion chooses to manifest itself as anger. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I didn't know Abbie, I didn't know."

"You're supposed to be…..supposed to be….." she babbles.

"I agreed to helping out Daniel before I'd won the contest. He's an old friend----"

"How, when, how do you know how to even DO that," she pants. She'd been watching him up there with the other men all night, doing their sensuous routine, the floor humping and thrusting and shaking and rolling and crotch grabbing, waist snapping. "How long have you been doing that?"

"I haven't been doing that. It started in college and it stopped when Chantal found out."

"Chantal has seen that before?" and her face flames. "This just keeps getting better."

"It was an accident that she showed up at the same club---"

"What I want to know is do you have any more secrets?"

Abraham goes still. "I wasn't, Abbie I wasn't keeping that from you. It's not an average conversation starter, is it? By the way I was an exotic dancer during my school years?"

"No but---but. We don't keep things from each other. I don't know how that started but it did."

"Are you cold?"

She is, she's been rubbing her arms since she came outside for some air. She doesn't answer him because she fails to process this night. She just can't. Wordlessly he approaches and his arms fold around her, so warm, so comforting so close, and she hugs him back. She nestles into him, bunching his shirt in her hands. "Congratulations" she murmurs at last, and she feels his arms tighten around her. This was what she had wanted, right after the show went off the air. This was what she had thought would be lost to her. She clings harder now, because the reality is, this moment doesn't change the circumstances. But she just needs this. "Abraham," she starts and she feels his lips press to her hair. She begins to shake. 

"Abraham,"she says again. 

"Right here sweetheart,"

Not for long her mind echoes, not for long, but all she can say is: "Abraham," again, and then she tilts her head up. "I thought I wouldn't see you again," she says softly. "After you left, I tried to go after you but there were so many people. I just wanted to, to tell you how happy, I am, for you, and, and,"

He takes her face in his hands. Ichabod's words come back to him. Be a reckless, selfish man for once. 

Abraham has never been a thrill seeker. 

However.

seasons change.

Times change.

people invariably do. 

He leans down to her, pausing a breath away. 

"Stop talking" 

Quiet as a breath in the dead of night, lips touch. No hesitation, no outcry. Softly and sweetly his lips mould to hers, to his delighted surprise he feels her lips move responsively beneath his own, he feels her hand rise to catch at his, and he doesn't let go, cradling her as he deepens the kiss, his lips fiercely on hers, knowing, KNOWING full well he's drowning, as they crash into the wall of the building and that he's probably ruining her life. Scratch that, he IS ruining her life, but he can't stop, now that he's started, he has denied himself too long. His lips meeting hers again, drawing her closer, nearer, his heart beat thundering in his ears as if the sky has split apart--and she doesn't tell him stop, doesn't shove him away.

There is singing. 

Surely Abbie is going mad because she can hear music ringing through her ears, her limbs her heart---the creature in it's cage kicks open the lock, throwing it's head back it howls with wild freedom. It prances and leaps. How long have they been here her mind wonders before the lion batts it's rationality to the side, the discarded ringmaster. It rends her common sense, shredding the tents and spooking the patrons at the circus of her soul. They all run streaming out into the night. Her heart is a wild volatile unruly thing it's going to kick through her chest in a moment---

Her fingers curl into his shirt, drawing him closer instead of pushing away, some part of her can't believe this is happening at last, is unable to accept this brand new, supercharged reality. His shirt wasn't fully buttoned and she wedges her hand in to feel the heat of his chest, and he's so warm and surely she's burning up too. The kiss is slow but it rages. It's a fire roaring and promising warmth. His hands falls to her waist and it's as if he's in a trance. He kisses as if memorizing, as if tasting something divine, his tongue gently exploratory. There is nothing outside of now. Nothing outside of this small contained world. He is falling down a rabbit hole and racing toward the sky. 

He swallows each quiet gasp, every exhale he chases with another kiss. Has urgency ever been patient? it is here. He is persistently tender here, he needs the assurance as much for himself as her. That what he is feeling with each press of lips is real. That one, could complete, and two, can mend, and three opens his eyes, and four, five, six, tastes like utter bliss and he wants this, has he ever been as selfish as he dared? has he ever wanted something this much? 

This is him then. Beneath all of the care and loyalty is a man who WANTS. Wants adventure. Wants trust. Wants joy and trial and tribulation. Wants this love that snuck up on him and transformed him irrevocably, wants this woman who he has seen grow, this woman who fears being left behind. They can't get close enough. They can't feel enough, Abbie kisses him back with just as much fervour and it's astounding they don't both burst into flames. The answer is so clear. All along his brain had been pounding, nonsense, ignore it, leave it be, but he cannot, he will not. My brain says stop, he thinks. But.

My heart tells me no. 

He will be that man. For the first time Abraham is willing to be that man. He will be a villain now if it means they have a chance, they're worth fighting for, and he will fight. Damn the consequences, to hell with who might judge him. There will be carnage but he would wade through it. He has never been afraid of life. He's not about to be now. Oh, how he should have done this sooner, he thinks, as the kisses begin to slow to soft pecking things, breathing barely regulating as he pulls away. Abbie's mind is a blissful fog. That was real. This is real. She hasn't been imagining it. His forehead rests against hers.

"I have fallen in love with you." he whispers. 

The whole world is quiet.

Abbie thinks that even the air has gone still, that time has stopped. She feels the moment when his hand slides through her hair, and knows--- he's going away, he's LEAVING---but he kisses her again before her senses can align properly. She is burning up. Something has just sparked to life in Abbie 

A flame that would just as soon burn you as illuminate the dark. 

Panic rears up in her like a skittish horse, her limbs are familiar with this instinct, and the energy thrumming through them tells her they won't fail her now. Damn reality. Damn fear. Because the fact is Abraham will go away now, as he must, to chase his dream, and she can see it in his eyes he would stay if she asks him too, but she can't hold him back. She cannot stay behind and watch. Abbie is so tired of staying behind. Home is not home anymore, Sleepy Hollow is not safe a haven so much as a prison she made for herself. 

Abraham pulls away, still so close, so near, and his voice is a song she knows.

He won't stay. The thought blares through Abbie's brain. He can't. You can't make him. 

"Marry me, Abbie. Marry. Me."


	57. Undoing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some revelations, some bonding, some confrontation and some mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop wedding day!  
> Almost there!
> 
> I'm serious, lol. Let's see if I can finish before the S3 premiere! 
> 
> leave your thoughts!

Abraham stands alone, starring at the space that Abbie has just abandoned. 

She'd bolted---a predictable action---but one that stung nonetheless. It happened so fast. She was there and then she wasn't. He'd stumbled she'd upset his balance so much in the way she'd pitched herself from him, hightailing it into the night. He stands there, watching waiting, for what he's not sure, maybe for her to come streaming back to him out of the darkness and to say what, yes? He wonders now, in light of her reaction, if he's lost his mind. He wants her, yes, and one might not believe him saying it was love but Abraham has become grudgingly well acquainted with his heart, and no one has made him feel what he does with her. They speak the same language, so he gets it, doesn't want to, but he understands why she ran.

It's so ironic, it's so ridiculous, he'd laugh if he didn't feel so hollow inside. 

He's leaving. 

He's doing the same damn thing Crane had done.

What Calvin and Orion had done. 

She's fought long and hard to overcome it, and he knows in many ways she has, but that one fear clings to her---if only she had let him finish-----

It might always, because Abbie has never taken her own chance to fly. 

*****************

She'd hailed a taxi and texted Jenny to inform the others she'd had too much to drink and she was sick. Which wasn't a lie. She'd thrown up in the parking lot before the cab pulled up. Abbie is shivering the whole drive---not home---because Jenny's determined to sell damn place and she's not going to stop that from happening, she's not going to stand in her sister's way anymore. She left her purse at the venue, so she begs for the driver to wait a moment while she grabs some cash from in her drawer, and after she pays them she locks the door tight, takes in the array of boxes on the floor and runs to the bathroom where she's sick all over again. Jenny had texted back almost immediately to say she's headed home, but she can't have Jenny finding her like this, it'll just muck things up more. Jenny will worry. And she doesn't want that. Doesn't want the watchful eyes and gentle prying and reassurances. She stays there, clinging to the bowl a moment before she can haul herself up and rinse her mouth and brush her teeth. She strips off the dress and into her pj's headed to the kitchen to make herself some tea. The phone is hot in her hands while she moves. While the kettle boils her fingers hovers over Luke's number. Keeps imagining what she would say. 

"I'm sorry. I can't marry you. I'm a mess"

"Please forgive me, I'm calling off the wedding,"

"Can't wait to see you at the altar, love you"

"Abraham proposed to me tonight but he's leaving town and I'm terrified so I'm marrying you tomorrow instead" 

She throws her head in her hands, so absorbed she ignores the kettle until it is whistling at a fever pitch and the top blows off, water running off the stove and she curses, grabbing an oven mitt to remove it and just in the midst of this is when the front door opens. 

"Abs?"

"In here," she calls back, having removed the kettle and now staring blankly at the water on the floor. Jenny pauses in the kitchen doorway, takes in her dishevelled sister and silently moves for the mop. 

"Alright. Talk to me." she orders, swishing the mop on the floor.

"Jenny"

"Damnit Abbie I'm not playing this game with you."

"I don't know okay? I---I---look, I'm sorry, truly deeply, for everything I've put you through over the years that wasn't fair. I never meant for you to go through any of that, I didn't want you to feel guilty, like you had to watch me, but you did anyway, and you almost lost Nick over it ---"

"Abbie"

"Let me finish. You have to promise me that if I tell you right now that you're not going to sabotage your life again over it. I want you to promise me you're going to move forward." her lip trembles and Jenny leans the mop on the counter and takes Abbie in her arms. 

"Only if you promise to do the same thing." she draws back and peers into her sisters eyes. "Whatever that entails." 

******************  
Chantal hangs back after Jenny and Cynthia depart, the second their out the door she goes tearing through the building. She collides with Daniel in the back hall.

"Chantal! Girl you look amazing,"

"I keep promising not to attend these shows of yours but I always have some friend dragging me to them," she smiles, grabbing his elbow. "But I don't have much time. Where's Abe?"

"Took off like he saw a ghost after doing his dance for the bride. Says they know each other,"

"I think he's fallen for her,"

Daniel raises his brows, "Excuse me?

"Where did he go?" 

"Outside--hey!" he yelps as she yanks on his arm dragging him outside. They find Abraham standing alone, stunned and lost looking. 

"Bear?" Chantal approaches cautiously. "Abraham? Abraham? are you alright?"

He continues staring ahead. He didn't imagine it, Abbie had kissed him back. He'd felt that rush, there was something between them, there IS. He feels it, he knows it, but it's a hard thing to convince yourself of after she's run away from you. 

Hard to believe that he hasn't made a horrible mistake. 

"Abraham," she calls again, more sternly. 

"Come on man come inside," Daniel offers. "Let's sit and talk, yeah? Come on," he reaches for one arm, Chantal for the other and they slowly drag him inside. Once Daniel has Abraham on a stool and glass of water Chantal picks up the phone. 

"Orion?"

At the bar he's in, music pumping loud and women flirting with him Orion straightens and excuses himself. "Tally?"

"Can you send a car?" she asks. "What with Abraham winning tonight, I don't wanna take the risk with a regular taxi and a scandal story tomorrow," 

"Wait a minute. You're with Abraham? I thought he said he had a dance show tonight,"

"Yes at Abbie's Bachelorette. We're at the venue."

"He mentioned you all go back,"

Chantal scoffs. "Let's just say I'm more familiar with Abraham's moves than I like to be, can you send the car? we took rental here and he's in a bad way."

"Should I be part of this? should I come?"

"Orion? Honestly? It's a mess, this whole night is going to be a mess, so it's up to you, but I just need to get him home," 

"You gonna stay with him?" he asks suddenly. 

"What?" Chantal hisses, looking back over her shoulder at Abraham sitting at the bar with his head hung and Daniel chattering animatedly beside him. Lord only knows what tale he's spinning to lift Abraham's spirits. 

"Are you going to stay over with him," Orion presses. 

"Why----"

"To make sure he's alright? It's the kind of thing you'd do."

Chantal holds the phone away from her ear and wrinkles her nose. "I feel like you're trying to trap me, and now is not the time."

"Tally."

"I might or might not. Depends on the shape he's in. Just, hurry, okay?"  
*******************  
Luke is anxious. He's jittery. He's had two drinks was just serenaded by a scantily clad woman and now he's shooting pool with Andy and he's concerned. Because for all of the effort he's put in lately, nothing is the same with Abbie. She has let him kiss her and be as close as he can manage, but there is something fundamental within her that has shifted, maybe even still changing, he can't put his finger on it. The way she'd spout ideas, like a fond memory. The way she had been smiling too widely at him and trying to make herself present, as if she was just glad for him to be there, keeping her occupied. Perhaps it's just nerves? 

"So. Tomorrow's the big day" Andy muses. 

"Sure is,"

"You sure about it?" he queries. 

Luke's mouth goes dry. "What makes you ask?" 

Andy shrugs. "I just gotta say if someone had bet on you two getting together, I'd have lost big time."

His eyes narrow. "Go on,"

Andy meets Luke's gaze as he takes his shot. "I'm saying you don't go." he says bluntly, boldly. 

"Is that a fact"

"Call it like I see it,"

"And WHEN did you start seeing this, eh Brooks?"

Andy's had a few. He's sore about his failed attempts, and yeah, he's feeling vindictive right now.

There is nothing polite or straightforward about the human heart. It does not stop go, turn left, turn right. It picks a desire and thunders for it, hungers, craves, yearns for that want to be fulfilled. It takes the mind sitting down with it, having a civilized conversation about it's ambitions and how best to go about achieving them, or else they'll get nothing done. 

Sometimes it takes time for the heart and mind to agree on a common goal, often it is no small task. Some manage the equilibrium, and other's, given the right trigger spiral out of it. Like Andy Brooks.

"I started seeing it the night you proposed after I kissed Abbie under the mistletoe," 

Luke pauses. 

"She never told you?" he sneers. "What about in the car?"

"The, car?"

"When we came up for your grandmother's funeral, when the 'cat' got me?"

Luke grasps the stick firmly and starts to approach Andy. "I knew it, I knew it you snake in the grass, all along I knew you had a thing for Abbie"

"Yet you still went after her," Andy jeers, backing up around the table and just then Hawley is returning with drinks from the bar. 

"Whoa whoa whoa, hey, what's going on here?" he intervenes, wedging himself between them. 

"This, this, backstabbing….."

"Me? Backstabbing? Like you didn't know I got her chocolates every year?"

"You weren't ever defined, Brooks! it's not like you ever had the guts to get that far!"

"Well I'm there now. Better late than never am I right?" 

"She doesn't want you, Brooks, you think she'd have got with me if she did?"

Andy levels his gaze with Luke, and let's the spiteful spirit in him die. "All else aside, Morales? I don't know why Abbie chose you. But it's not love. When's the last time she said it?" he puts the stick down, grabs his drink from Hawley's waiting hand and knocks it back as he strides out of the room.

Hawley clears his throat, handing Luke his beverage. "Another game man?" he asks, nodding to the table.

But Luke is busy considering Andy's words, he shouldn't, but there's just enough truth in them to sting. "I think we'd better call it a night"

**************************

"What's wrong with him?" Crane asks as Chantal and Daniel march Abraham through the doors and towards the couch. 

"I'm sure it's a long story,"

"Well I'm not going anywhere," Crane hints as he takes a seat. "I'm sorry we haven't met?"

"Daniel Reynolds, friend of Abes,"

Crane ruffles. "He's awfully popular lately isn't he. Aren't you Abraham," he asks, prodding him gently. Abraham scrubs his hands across his face. "Did you speak to Abbie?"

Chantal slips off her heels, taking a seat opposite, Daniel leans awkwardly on the wall. "Abraham, talk to me. what's going on,"

So he tells them.

***************  
Jenny has been listening to Abbie break down the events of the night in a state of fascinated incredulity.

"And then---"

****************  
"----I proposed" Abraham huffs.

************  
Jenny blinks and leans closer "He what?"

************  
Chantal exchanges looks with Daniel and Crane, "You, what?"

****************

All together now.

"Oh hell no"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"What did you say?"

"Is the wedding off?"

"How long have you known?"

"What did she say?"

******************

Abraham swallows hard. "Well, she----"

******************  
"Bolted out of there so damn fast," Abbie laughs to herself. "My God Jenny I've really screwed up now haven't I. I've really done it now." 

Jenny pauses and then giggles. "Wow. Wow, Abbie, is there a man you meet that doesn't fall in love with you?" she teases.

"Jenny" she admonishes. "Stop teasing me, it's not funny"

"Oh on my end it is."

"Jenny!"

Her sister stops laughing long enough to clasp her sisters shoulder. "I have something for you," she runs to her room and returns with a journal. 

"What is it?" Abbie asks, running her fingers along the cover, flipping through the pages. 

"My travel journal." Jenny smiles. "All the places I saw, my thoughts, I figured it would be a kind of guide for you two on your honeymoon. Since you were making a few stops and I've been MANY places."

"Jenny, I'm touched. Really. But what the hell does it have to do with my predicament?"

"Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you decide. You'll know where to go. You can call it something borrowed, if you want." 

Abbie's eyes water. "You're too good to me,"

Jenny blinks back tears of her own, locking her arms tight around her direly confused and conflicted sibling. "I am." she agrees playfully. "But that's because I love you. And we're Mills girls. We stick together," 

Abbie nods and pulls back to meet Jenny's eyes. "You're damn right"   
*****************  
Ichabod glances at Abraham after the others leave. "Well, what are you going to do?"

"Honestly? I'm already in this deep. What have I got to lose?"

"Dignity" Crane quips quickly. "Sense of self worth, sanity, impending heart ache,"

"You're enjoying this" he accuses mildly. 

Crane gives a small shrug. "I've parted with them all before. It's not so bad, raving madness aside. You'll come around to it. I'll even call Parish for you myself, if it comes to that,"

Abraham works his jaw, assessing his friend before he breaks into a smile. "Goodnight Ichabod,"

"Goodnight, Abraham."

"Oh, and before I forget," Abraham says, doubling back into the room. "Now that you're back. You still owe me a new front door!"

"Everything going on in your life right now and you choose to quarrel over the door?"

"Loss of sanity kicking in"


	58. If You Love Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the night before the wedding and then actual wedding day. 
> 
> Luke's kind of a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of a blitz/awakening for many of the characters, apologies if it's messy. 
> 
> Some transformations happen without realizing , until something triggers it.
> 
> Almost at the end! 
> 
> comments please! Thanks a million for still being here with me on this! <3

Chantal is just getting out of the car and entering the hotel lobby, she yawns and rubs her eyes---makeup be damned---and there's Orion. 

"Who are you waiting up for?" she teases as she saunters past him to the elevators and he falls into step behind. "How many pretty girls did you bring back from what should have been Abraham's party, hmm?"

"None," he drawls waving her in the car when the doors open and pressing their floors. 

"That hardly seems like you,"

"Chantal," 

"A God awful mess. Be glad you missed out."

The elevator dings on it's way up. 

"Guess it's not too bad though, I mean, you're here and not sleeping over,"

"The idea really bothers you doesn't it"

Ding.

"You're, you're jealous of him."

Ding.

Orion scoffs. "Hardly."

Chantal raises a brow. "No? because he proposed to Abbie tonight,"

If Orion had been drinking he'd have choked. She grins at the stricken look on his face. "That's a torch that will never go out, will it," 

Orion shakes his head to clear it. "I'm shocked, that's all."

"Not, angry? irritated?"

He frowns at her.

Ding.

"I like Abraham. I care about Abbie……"

"But?"

"I don't understand how something happened between them and I don't know what will come of it----but you were right"

Ding.

A startled laugh. "I'm sorry did you just admit you were wrong about something?"

Ding.

"This is my floor." he tugs her hand, leading her out the elevator. 

"My room is upstairs,"

"I know but I thought maybe you could come in, gloat some more about how right you've been. Are you hungry?" he asks as he swipes his key. 

"Starving, what was I right about, as it happens?" Chantal strolls in, kicks off her shoes and drops her bag at the door, plopping down in one of the chairs. 

"You said it a while ago, actually, but I remembered" 

"I'm gonna have to watch what I say around you if you're gonna start remembering things," she chuckles softly. 

"You asked me if I love the person she is, or who she can be. I think it's the latter. I think it's what I always imagined I could make her. What I envisioned. But the person I think she has the potential to be, that might not even be the same as the person she's destined to become. I didn't love her future. I loved what I pictured."

"You're in love with your dreams," she says nonchalantly. "That's no crime, but it's matter of knowing who, or what, fits. Are you calling for food or what?"

Orion sits down opposite her and picks up the phone. "Of course, what will the lady have?"

She relays her order to him and then uses his washroom, stopping a moment to examine her appearance, trying to plan an outfit for a wedding that may or may not happen in the morning. Grief, what's she going to do with her hair? "Hey, Orion," she wheedles. 

He appears in the mirror over her shoulder as he draws nearer into the room. "Yeah?" he answers, his voice too quiet and confidential. She meets his eyes in the mirror, holding his gaze before she gives him a slow smile. 

"I didn't ever think I'd be asking this, but can you do my hair? stop smirking," she admonishes when she sees the smug expression creeping across his face, the way his amber eyes glint. "if there's a wedding at all, I want to wear my hair up, like I did the other day,"

"Sure, come here" he gestures to the bed where she crosses to it and sits down while he clambers on the mattress behind her, reaching for a chunk and parting it in two. 

"Are you ever going to tell me how you learned to do this?" she asks with her head tilted to the side. 

"Dated a hairdresser,"

She rolls her eyes. "Of course you did,"

"Sssh" Orion soothes. "While we wait for the food to come up, I'm gonna take care of you," he promises. "And you're going to tell me more about your school days with Abraham,"

"Why?"

He pauses to whisper in her ear. "You're right, I am a little jealous of him. Just not for the reasons you think,"  
************************  
When Abbie wakes up she's slept in. Her dress hangs on her bedroom door. Her accessories laid out neatly on her dresser. Jenny's travel journal and Calvin's unwrapped present among them. There's a note on her nightstand. 'You've had such a long night I laid out everything for you so you could catch a few extra winks. I've gone ahead. See you soon? Whatever you choose. Xo" 

Abbie glances at the clock and curses. "Shit." she hisses. Abbie didn't just sleep in. Her wedding starts in under an hour. Guests will be showing up soon.

She doesn't have much time.

************************  
Crane carefully combs his hair in the mirror, fixes his jacket and picks up the remaining envelope that he had kept, he hopes it will make a suitable wedding gift. On Katrina's behalf, and his. 

"Abraham? are you ready?"

"I don't think I can do it Ichabod,"

Crane regards him. "You're playing for it,"

"Have you lost your mind? I asked the bride to marry me last night"

"In hindsight that might have been ill thought," 

"Crane," Abraham grumbles. "I can't give up, I don't want to---"

"Then don't." Crane cuts him off, his tone logical and reasonable. "I'm headed to the church." he checks his watch. "You should be able to intercept her, if you run. And Abraham, I'll be moving out by the end of the month."

"What?"

Crane smiles at his friend, gives him a quick nod. "After today, whatever the outcome, you'll have plenty on your plate. I'm not going far, don't worry."

Abraham sighs wearily. "Why didn't you tell me you were looking?"

"I wasn't. But recent events tells me it's time for change. I never want you to stop looking out for me," he says kindly "But I do want you to dedicate time to yourself."

"I don't understand, Ichabod, what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm setting you free" 

**********************  
Luke is pacing at the front of the altar in his suit with his hair neatly combed. He's been here for an hour. Spent half an hour on his knees, fifteen minutes mulling over his fall out with Andy, another half hour searching his own soul and what he knows about Abbie. He eyes his watch. The flowers are there, the minister is bustling around in his office downstairs. His other groomsmen are joking around in the small washroom. He's paused with his head bowed, muttering silent prayers again when he hears the creak of the door. He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deeply, prepared to smile and chatter nervously with whoever has come through that door, but when he doesn't hear footsteps he turns. 

Abbie's curly hair hangs down her back. She's wearing her white t-shirt and most well loved jeans. She had it all planned before she saw him, looking so smart, so sure, hell, good. He looks damn good in a suit. "Looking good Morales,"

He smiles faintly. He nods to her attire. "Beautiful no matter what,"

At last her feet move, carrying her down the aisle towards him, and he waits there for her. If she wasn't a wreck, if she'd only shown up in her dress, just hung in there longer, the church would be full of the smiling faces they had invited to witness their reunion. If only Abbie could have kept herself in check. The walk seems forever, she never noticed until now how long the aisle is, and with each step she considers abandoning everything and just going through with it. Her feelings for Abraham would wane. The honeymoon would block out the tempestuous encounter of the night before. Maybe, around their tenth anniversary or so she would even confide in Luke about what had transpired the night before their wedding, and they'd even laugh about it. 

She is not the Abbie he fell for, he thinks as he takes in her walk. The gleam in her eyes, that had always been a gentle glowing thing, embers you needed to stoke, they're alight now, bright and alert in a way he's never seen. With every step it occurs to him that Abbie seems more, awake, in a way that he's never witnessed before. She is controlled and sure, but there's something less measured about her now. More like she exists in her power rather than trying to prove it. And his mind is made up. As she draws nearer he holds his hands out to her, and she takes them as he sinks down on the step before the altar, taking her down with him. 

"Good morning," he greets. 

"Good morning--ahem" she blinks rapidly and looks away. 

"Hey, Hey, Mills, look at me now, come on,"

Her eyes flit back his way, she swallows, about to speak but Luke starts first. "Do you know," his thumbs circle the back of her hands. "Do you know, when I first realized I had feelings for you?"

"Luke let's not do this---"

"No," he objects softly. "Do you know?"

Abbie bites her lips together and shakes her head. "No. No I don't." 

Luke's eyes shimmer. "It was April 2014? And you were having a bad day. Really rough, for whatever reason, and,"

"My pen exploded." she remembers now. " Got ink everywhere and I stormed out and you came after me," 

"You looked like hell," he smirks. "I can say that now because you're not so quick to lash out at me anymore," 

Abbie listens to him silently. 

"I should have asked you, should have pushed you that day to tell me what was on your mind. But I didn't. Decided to leave it be. And you smiled when I didn't press. And I thought, there's my Abbie. Mine. I thought that was the woman I knew."

"Luke" she starts again, her eyes welling up. 

He raises a hand to stop her. "But it's not. You, the real you, was under all of that. Had I been brave enough that day I would have discovered that. And I'd have still loved you, I think. I love you even now, after everything, the woman you are becoming, the woman you will be but Abbie, and it's okay, I've had time to think this over. Have been for a few days……I love who you are now. But the woman you are now, she doesn't love me."

Tears fall. She opens her mouth to protest again but he puts a fingers to her lips. Leans in, instead. "I asked Orion to give you that contract." He confesses. "I saw you changing and I opened myself up to embrace it, go through the change with you. I struggled, Abbie, when you unloaded all of that stuff on me. I…..honestly didn't know what to do. But then I tried, I said, somehow Luke, you've got to show her that you love her. And I have been fighting for a way to do that. To show you that I forgive you, and love you." 

Abbie blinks her eyes shut, looks up at the ceiling, looks away, then back at him. He's so close, he drops one of her hands, tucks her hair behind her ear and presses his mouth to hers before dropping his hand and toying with her fingers.

When he pulls back, her eyes flutter open and Abbie looks down at her unadorned hands.

Then at the ring glinting in his palm. 

Her mouth goes dry. 

He smiles at her again, and it's genuine, it's true, there's pain there, but an acceptance, a type of relief that he's doing the right thing. "I love you enough, to let you go," he presses a kiss to her forehead "Go, I'll take care of everything from here, Abbie. Go." and he strides down the aisle, out of the room. Releasing her of their vows to wed. Letting her go to be true to the heart of the person she's still finding. 

Abbie watches his back, dumbfounded before she barks a laugh of sheer surprise. She clenches and unclenches her hands. She cries, which she had expected she would do. But not nearly as many tears as she had expected, not as much heartbreak as she had braced for. She admires Luke in that moment, for being that considerate, that brave, to make this decision. She rises to her feet and marches down the aisle, intending to find him, to at least thank him but she walks straight into Crane. 

"Ah hell," she mutters and Crane look down at her. "What are you doing here?"

Crane peers around her into the decorated church. "I had believed a wedding was taking place here this day. Unless that is no longer the case?" She gazes at the floor before looking up at him. 

"No longer the case," she admits. 

"Ah. Well." and he reaches into that infernal coat, it's like Mary Poppin's damn medicine bag and withdraws yet another envelope. 

"More envelopes Crane?" she asks as he hands it to her. 

"It goes with the other ones, A wedding gift. Or gift to you, now, I suppose. There's a letter there,"

Abbie rolls her eyes and turns her back for just a second, just one last look at the church all decked out for the wedding she's not having, she starts talking with her back still turned. "That reminds me, that last set of forms had an account with Katrina's name on it, what's that all abou---Crane?" she spins around in the room but he's gone, ducked down a hall? hiding behind a pillar? the church doors have been propped open, he might have left the building entirely. She can't fathom how he moves so quick, surely he must still be sore from that wound, but there's no sight of him as she skips down the church steps. And suddenly Abbie is filled with a new, frightening, exhilarating purpose as she flees.  
*****************  
The minute Abbie confirms the wedding is off and the envelope in her hand, her back turns for that one last moment, Crane scurries back outside, around to the side of the building and calls his friend. 

"In case you were planning on thwarting the wedding, I suggest you reroute,"

******************  
Luke crosses Jenny marching toward the church with Hawley in tow as he's leaving it, wrestling the tie triumphantly from his neck. "Go home, it's off," he calls.

"Off?" Jenny repeats. 

"Call whoever you know," Luke says marching himself down the street. 

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know!" he calls back, almost, cheery as he throws his arms up in the air. "I'll be fine. I think Abbie's headed back home!"

******************  
At the house Abbie packs. The candle their mama always lit, that Jenny hasn't thrown away yet. Jenny's travel journal. Calvin's gift. The ridiculous amount of forms from Crane. She packs her bag and Jenny comes in the door just then.

"Abbie?"

Abbie huffs. "Hey Jenny."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm good Jenny, I just….I think it's time I…..cleared my head."

It's crazy.

It's out of character wildness that is not native to her sister. But Jenny understands it, she knows it. Somethings are easier to process on neutral territory. Less taxing to put yourself together in a place where the pieces aren't scattered hither and thither. But it doesn't change the fact that it's insane. 

"Where are you going to go?" she demands. 

Abbie plucks the travel journal out and brandishes it before her sister. "It's what you gave it to me for, right? So I'd know where to go? I'm going Jenny," she flashes her sister a smile. A shining, bright, wild adventurous thing. "I'm going to figure out what the hell I want out of life and who I am and see some sights while I'm at it."

"Running away?"

"Running away, running toward. I've been stagnant for too long, Jenny. I gotta go while I've still got the nerve. Before I can talk myself out it, I think I need this." 

Hawley watches the exchange in bewilderment with his head propped on his hand. Jenny ticks her gaze to him. "You? nothing to say?"

Nick throws his hands up in the air. "Me? Not a word besides you're crazy and your sister's crazier. Must be genetic" he finishes, watching in amazement as Abbie puts on her shoes, grabs her bag and heads toward the door, Jenny trailing behind her. 

"It ever cross your mind that if you had done this with me way back then----"

"Not doing it Jenny" she refuses. "Not playing what ifs anymore. Like digging up dead things. Like trying to turn back the clock. You can't. It took me…..ten, TEN years to figure that out….I'm not going back there" she gasps, her eyes are shining but these tears won't fall. These aren't tears that mourn or weep. This welling of water is emotion thrumming through her veins and a buzzing courage she never dared lay claim to, never tried to embrace. "I promised you to move forward," she says. "Let me do it my way." 

Tires squeal to a halt in front of the house then, a door slamming and the noise draws the attention of the sisters to Abraham leaping out of the car. 

Her heart leaps. Thunders. Somersaults. Who knows, she can't define the acrobatics it's performing in her chest because she hasn't allowed it the freedom to do that in so long. 

He marches right up to her, greets Jenny who gives a nod and skips back up the steps to watch from the doorway with Nick who has sidled up behind her. Abraham and Abbie stand apart, taking in one another. He looks down at the suitcase in her hand. 

"Leaving without a goodbye?"

"Abraham,"

He grabs her hands. "You didn't let me finish last night Abbie," 

"There was more? after the proposal?" she asks, an amused grin flitting across her face. 

His eyes crinkle. "Yes there was more. Come with me. Leave with me. I should have said that. I'm not leaving you behind, come with me Abbie."

Now tears fall, because her heart is so full. "I can't." she says. "But thank you for asking. No one----they've never asked. But I need to do this alone." she expects him to rebuff her, to protest but Abraham stands there, watching her with his careful, beautiful eyes, waiting for her to talk. To hear her. He's not interested in talking her out of it even though he has no context for what's going on, and it's there, that implicit trust in her own instincts. He believes in what she's doing, whatever it is. He doesn't need answers. He just wants her to be true. 

"I made here, this house, Sleepy Hollow, a stronghold. I armed myself here. I commanded here I reinvented the word 'strong' here. But only out of fear." She swings their hands gently. "Only because I was hurting so damn much. Afraid of being abandoned and the problem was I've been afraid to leave. I got it in my head that if I left here, if I took those chances, stepped outside that box, I'd be weak. And such an easy target for more pain. I don't know if I've been wrong all this time but I need to find out. I really need to know, how strong, how enduring am I really on my own." she steps in closer to him, meeting his eyes. "When you won, last night. I felt myself go to pieces. And It felt like, awful, it felt awful and I have always dealt with people who leave poorly. And it's because, I, I depended, on them, I needed them, in some way. Or I wouldn't let them in, because I couldn't afford that trust. And when I felt it for you? Damn if my whole world didn't turn upside down." 

"Everything happened so fast I was in the car before I could blink and---my only alternative had last night not happened…..guess I'd have interrupted the ceremony." He tugs her slightly closer, because he can sense what's coming. Understands it, he does, but that doesn't make it better. 

"I have been so terrified, of what it means, to feel that much. And I need time, Abraham. I need time to know that what we have will keep. That I'm not co-dependent. I need, to find me. Really find ME. Know myself inside out and be honest and take some time so that when I come back, I can trust myself completely. So the answer is no." she blinks up at him and she lets out a breathy laugh. "You're smiling a lot for a man who just got shot down,"

When he speaks, his voice is shaky. "It's because this is what I've wanted for you, Abbie." He strokes her face and her eyelids flutter shut, leaning into it. "To fly," 

Eyes winking open, she reaches up for him, drawing him towards her. "I'm leaving." she says, lets the weight of those words settle in the air between them. So strange to feel them pass her own lips, but the way he looks at her is encouraging, chases away the doubt that thinks about creeping back in. "I don't know, who I'll be when I get back. I've changed so much since I met you and there's more still. I won't ever be Abbie before Crane. She wasn't a healthy person either. She was needy to fill a void. I wanna be whole. Complete. Able to give without losing so much. I can't promise anything, for when I see you again. But I can tell you that who I am, in this second, Crazy as hell it is, she loves you. I've fallen in love with you," she says quietly and presses her lips to his. 

There it is, the crackle hum spark. The damn flame leaping and dancing inside of her. And she hopes that it'll continue to burn while she embarks on her journey. That it's a truth she can rely on. 

Abraham's arms crush her, he kisses her hair. He tells her "Stay safe. Chase. Discover. Become." and "Don't you dare come back less than mentally, spiritually intact," 

She kisses him again, again, a taxi pulls up and begins impatiently blowing the horn. One last embrace, another kiss with her arms around his neck and he lifts her off the ground before Jenny and Nick dash down the steps, embracing her and saying their partings. They watch her get in the cab.

Ed rolls his eyes when he sees who it is but keeps quiet. This town is too small, he thinks. 

"Where to?"

"Airport"

"Going on a trip?"

Abbie waves out the window, blowing kisses to those who love her, wishing her well. "Trip of a lifetime," she replies, smiling and settling back into the seat.

Outside the house Abraham watches the taxi disappear from view, taking deliberate measured breaths. Jenny grips his hand in comfort and Nick drapes an arm around her shoulder. 

"So that's it?" he muses out loud. "We just let her leave?"

Many people have left over the years. Whether through flight or a run or a clock run out. Dreams and ambition. Fear and adventure. 

Jenny squeezes Abraham's hand and turns to look at Nick. She's crying. He wipes away the tears and she smiles at him. 

"Abbie's never had a chance to run." she says, "Let her do it now,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter explains Crane's last stupid envelope. And Calvin's gift. 
> 
> I really wanted to capture that Abbie has a journey ahead of her in finding herself, and that means leaving things behind, striking off on her own and get it together so she can make real informed, honest decisions about her life when she gets back. 
> 
> But also that loving someone, takes a certain amount of honesty to realize one needs to be wholly themselves, and to allow them to do that. And there's pain in it, but it can be liberating too.


	59. Letters of Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catch up with Chantal and Orion after the news that Abbie fled. 
> 
> Some time jumps of Abbie on her travels and those she left behind.
> 
> And we finally answer that Katrina question.
> 
> Healing is a long road. 
> 
> So is love.
> 
> Neither are tidy things.

Chantal knocks on Orion's door, her hair pinned up, blush coloured dress. He opens it so fast she nearly stumbles and just then her phone goes off. Her brows knit together. "Abraham says the wedding's off."

"Well done,"

"No. No, He says Abbie's gone."

"Gone!" Orion gapes. "Gone to hell where?"

Chantal shrugs. "Says he doesn't know. Got in a taxi for the airport. Hey, you alright?" she tugs on his sleeve because Orion suddenly seems dazed. 

"She's finally done it," he says, something like pride in his tone. Chantal folds her arms and leans back on the wall, the corner of her mouth quirking into a small smile. 

"Guess she's not so bent on gathering moss anymore, huh." 

They exchange a smile and walk down the hall. "So, where to?"

Chantal shakes her head bemusedly. "Your guess is as good as mine. All dolled up and nowhere to go." 

Orion grasps her hand, fingers interlocking. "We'll think of something"  
*********************  
Abbie Mills: August 2015

Abbie let Jenny's journal be her guide. She spent days on beaches and days at ruins, wandered strange streets with other tourists and found, always, herself in a bar at night where a local band played. She found a different place of worship for each one of her stops. Temples and cathedrals and holy hills. Spent a lot of time meditating and discovering the world through her sister's hand. Took pictures, many many many pictures, begging tour guides to snap them for her. 

She wrote. Old fashioned mail that had no return address. 

When she stopped in Paris in late September, she mailed a package back to Calvin Riggs. 

Later that night she would finally work up the nerve to read the letter Ichabod had given her at the church. 

Abbie had opened Calvin's gift on the plane. Had been confused by the album embossed with the words 'Captive' on the cover until she had opened it and had seen her own face staring back at her. Her struggle captured by frames. Fiery, haunted, beautiful, vulnerable, hard. She'd gasped looking at her own raw nakedness, so bare, stripped down not just in body but soul. The thing she carried around with her emerging on those pages. 

It had shaken her. The title of the damn thing couldn't have been more fitting. She had been captive, for all those years.  
***********************  
Calvin Riggs: October 2015

When he picked the box up at the post office he was surprised to find two albums in the box. The first one was a plain black square thing, but full of gorgeous scenery, he had flipped through it absently at home until her face started appearing. 

Smiling.

Trying new food.

One of her on a stage, looked like some sort of coffee house at a bar.

Climbing and hiking through lush greenery.

Perched on a ruin. 

Petting someones dog.

Petting someones goat----a goat? he'd flipped back to look at that one properly. 

But more of her smiling and being……unburdened, light. Glowing. 

The other album was his gift to her, and when he opened it a note had fallen out. 

"Thank you, for finding the beauty in me through all of my walls and darkness. For using your artistry and talent to give me new eyes. You were strong, to see me that way, and be what I needed, and understanding what I couldn't give. These pictures are beautiful. And I am not afraid. I think it's time you put up that exhibit you were always threatening me with, Calvin. 

So I'm asking you to set me free"  
**********************  
Jenny Mills: August 2015

Her first letter came three days after Abbie had left. "I'm safe." it began and Jenny had laughed and startled into tears at the same time. "This place is beautiful, just as you said, Too damn hot, but gorgeous. I'm going to be planning this trip on a whim. I don't know just yet how long I'll be gone, but I'll try to write regularly. Thank you, again, for being an incredible sister. And I know it's only been three days, but I am starting to see the appeal of travel now. No wonder you stayed away so long. But I don't begrudge you any of it Jenny. I love you."  
**********************  
Chantal Adams: August 2015

Both Chantal's female lead AND her under study caught the same bug and were unable to perform, so she'd called Macey to go on stage instead. It was no walk in the park reworking the staging and having her learn all of the pieces in their extremely tight time frame, but after coming off of the publicity of Orion's talent show having Macey perform drew twice the crowd. They'd sold out every night of the performance. And she was proud of Macey, the girl had a voice born for broadway and Chantal fretted to think that talent might not have been discovered were it not for Orion Angel. 

On opening night the curtains had drawn back and Chantal and sat there, biting her nails, just hoping and praying people would love Macey's performance as much as she did. She needn't have worried, the crowd had roared. 

Cynthia and Frank had been utterly beside themselves. Was this their baby girl's life now? A Broadway star? The excited chatter of the leaving patrons and the crowd Macey had outside of her dressing room told them that yes…..this was just the beginning. 

Abraham wasn't able to see the show until closing night when he'd driven down with Jenny and Hawley and Ichabod, who Jenny seemed less inclined to punch in the face these days. 

But on opening night Chantal had exited the hall after taking her bows with the cast and thanking the orchestra and every single body that had filled those seats and had left the hall only to walk face first into a gargantuan bouquet of flowers. Flustered she'd tripped backwards before a hand shot forward and wrapped around her wrist. Only then did the bouquet bow politely to the side to reveal Orion's slyly grinning face.  
**********************  
Luke Morales: August 2015

He went back to work, for all of two weeks, before deciding he needed a vacation of his own. 

The world was a big place.

Abbie shouldn't get to have the whole thing all to herself. Jenny and Hawley saw him off, waving and smiling. 

He landed in India about a week after Abbie had left, coincidentally. Caught the eye of a woman named Sabine.

Sabine had a bad habit of snatching up travellers, and it wasn't a habit she intended to break.  
************************  
Jenny Mills: August 2015

Third week in, reading her fourth letter from Abbie, who was making her way toward the Isle of Man….a sharp knocking at the door. She's decided to wait until Abbie gets home to revisit whether or not to sell the house. In the meantime the empty room haunts her, and she decides to rent it. Jenny rises to get the door and quirks a brow at the man on the other side. 

"I hear you're taking tenants?" Ichabod Crane asks. Jenny's not surprised, really, but she does wonder where Crane gets his nerve. 

"Have you no shame?" she drawls, stepping aside and letting him in. 

"An astounding amount, truth be told," he replies, walking around the living room in wonder. "But. I needed to give Abraham space. And I told him I wouldn't go too far and----"

Jenny rolls her eyes. "This is going to be weird as hell. Hawley!" she hollers and hears the shower turn off. He pokes his head out of the washroom. 

"Yeah babe?"

"Come meet our new tenant" 

************************  
Abraham Van Brunt: September 2015

There were interviews and television appearances and he was already beginning to put in some time at the studio. 

Cameras followed him everywhere now. He taught when he was able but suspected he'd probably have to close up shop soon if things kept up this way. 

Orion stayed in Sleepy Hollow, to everyone's surprise, helping him get used to the media intrusion. 

He'd heard from Abbie, sounded as if she was having a great time. They'd managed a few phone calls, during the latest it had been night time for him, morning for her. 

"I miss you."

"Count the ways," she'd teased.

Instead he'd put the phone on speaker and sang his latest song. There had been silence on the other end and he'd feared she'd hung up, or he'd scared her off. Abraham understood how important this solo trek was for Abbie and had been since trying his damnedest not to beg her to come home. He missed her sparkling, glittering eyes and bright smile and jubilant laughter. He missed her spirit. The Archives reminded him of her now. The stacks was now their spot in his mind, that dance floor would always be theirs. He missed the person she was becoming, whatever changes and self discoveries she was making Abraham so wanted to be part of it, to see it. 

But he direly did not want to interrupt it in anyway. Had no desire or interest in being something that held her back. But she also needed to know that he still thought of her, in a manner that was rather thoroughly embedded still in his heart. When the silence threatened to drive him mad he'd called. "Abbie?"

"For a time, while I've been out here, I almost thought I'd imagined it. What was between us. "

Was. His heart sank. Past tense. 

"Abbie, if you don't feel----"

"I feel," she'd snapped. "Strongly." in an added whisper. "I'm surprised how strongly, still. I've missed your voice, in every way. That was beautiful,"

"It suits my inspiration," he said honestly, no guile, this is not charm he's laying on.

"Is that for your album?" she'd asked. "Has Orion heard it yet?"

"No," he responded quickly. "It's for you, your ears alone."

She'd mused, "That's a nice phrase, 'Your Ears Alone'"

At last he'd dared to test his limits. "When, when are you coming home?"

A beat. "I've never asked anyone to do this before Abraham, and it's selfish and unfair of me to do it now. But wait for me? I'm not ready yet, and ---"

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

He laughed. "Were you expecting me to say no?"

"It's a ridiculous request," she admitted. 

"I'm no stranger to ridiculous requests, sweetheart. I'm here for you, my heart too"  
**************************  
Abbie Mills: October 2015

She's just got off her flight in England, is walking through the airport when a television report catches her eye. It's one of those entertainment news shows.

"We caught Abraham Van Brunt today leaving Angel's Los Angeles studio, we asked him how he's been adjusting to the rapid changes in his life since winning,"

Abbie stops entirely, watching his face fill the screen. She misses those eyes, a great deal. 

"An adjustment is an understatement" he laughs, ruffling his hair that's grown just a tad longer than when she saw him last. " But an incredible journey. It still doesn't seem quite real I mean, the way the whole thing started----"

"Angel discovered you at a coffee-house night in your home town, there was a brawl that night too if I recall,"

"That seems forever ago," he replies, smoothly deflecting further inquiry. "It's leagues away from how this began. I'm just ready to share my music,"

"You've mentioned working on an album before you won, who inspired you?"

In that moment his eyes meet the camera and Abbie feels as though he's watching her. Her breath catches. 

"Someone I care about. Deeply."

"Are you saying you're not single? VanFans all over will be in tears tonight!"

"My special someone is abroad right now, an exciting expedition. I just hope when she's done exploring she won't be bored by me" he laughs quietly to inject some humour but Abbie knows what it is to mask pain and doubt. 

"Until then I look forward to her coming home. I have great hopes, for us" 

***************************  
Katrina Crane: January 2013

Dear Ichabod,

and Abbie.

Our lives have been twined, for many years. I do not pretend to know the depth of it, only that it has been a source of great pain---and I dare say for us all. I do not claim, to understand your bond. What it was, and how deep it ran, in spite of my own relationship with the both of you. Only I have lived some years feeling I was wrongly trapped into perpetrating a crime against you both. 

I blame you, for that Ichabod. 

I blame you for failing to have the courage to tell me when it first began to take root, still in those early years and you had just gone away and met Miss Mills, that we might have run our course, that we ought to part ways. I'd have been hurt, and distance being so kind, I'd probably would not have wanted anything more to do with you. And I'd have been spared the summer of her visit, when she too rented space in my life for a time---little did I know I would spend years afterwards with her hovering between us. But then again, time and distance might have healed all, and we might have been friends, all three of us. 

I blame you, for bowing so easily to your fears and asking me, in such a cruel disguise as a marriage proposal, to help you flee from what you had begun with a woman I know you cared----care still---very deeply for. Once more I'd have been cross with you had you denied me, but I liked her too, Ichabod. 

I liked Abbie. 

We got along.

Even knowing in a distant way, the way one might glimmer a shadow over their shoulder, that there ran something powerful between you, and that I shouldn't have played blind to it---I liked Abbie. She was fire and smiles and I do believe complex and tangled as it would have been, I'd have forgiven you for choosing her, Ichabod. 

How could you not?

I'd seen the way your eyes lingered and your mouth curled so readily into a smile. I'm insulted now that you thought me stupid enough not to catch it. I am angered with myself now for not doing the sensible thing of not chasing after you. 

But I own my faults, Ichabod Crane. I know that you sought me as refuge as I did you, and I thought us two with our own burdens, that we know so well, we could help one another, who else could heal the other if not us? We were so good together, in the beginning, weren't we? So merrily enmeshed in drawing the other away from our faults and building the other up. You gave me much of yourself, Ichabod, in helping me stand tall and feeling wanted and like I belonged. And knowing nothing of your entanglement with Abbie, I did not wish to part with you. I had hoped to give as much of myself back. Give and take. Give and take. 

But you were a greedy man. A human. We are all just that, in the end. 

A walking time line with a beginning and an indeterminate end……

I have been forced to regard life very differently through the course of our marriage. There were joys but there were fantastic wastes of energy and emotions and our time. 

Had you told me then, that you and her had been together----regardless of whether a relationship had begun Ichabod---I would have wanted to know, to have some say in furthering my relationship with you. In maintaining, forging a friendship with her. It would have been messy and tiresome I don't doubt it. No matter what it may have ended in tears---but we'd have all chosen that. Or perhaps.

We might have found a way. If you still harboured feelings for me, we might have worked through it, and Abbie might have let us, the more I think it now, the more sure I am I'd have welcomed her, and your child, into our lives. Even---even if you had chosen Abbie, if you had gotten the nerve during our union to leave at last---oh how I used to pray for you to leave, go back to her, be a father, and whatever the hell else you might have been capable of being to her if not me. Your misery haunted me, and if your own pain was any indication then surely all this time Abbie has been enduring that alone with the added burden of your child. It was there in her music. Before I understood. 

Abbie, for if I've done everything right you are reading this too.

I never harboured any malice, towards you. I missed the sparkle that only you could bring to Ichabod's eye. Missed the robust laugh you brought to my ears. Had Ichabod not decided for us in that maddening escapist way of his----a damned mess it would have been but I entertained the thought, many many times, that you might have allowed me to be an aunt, to him or her. Them. I've sometimes daydreamed that perhaps you had twins. 

I wanted children.

But I found living with the beastly thing which is in fact our own beloved Ichabod Crane made it very difficult on me to get in the family way. 

Now that I feel I have sufficiently berated Ichabod (guilted him properly too I hope) I come to the business of this letter, and the documents enclosed with it.

Perhaps you know this, but I did leave him, near the end. Everyone has a breaking point. And I had a family home in my name. Small beloved place that my widowed mother, beset by grief, began a massive, expensive renovation on. 

I think she intended it to draw my sisters and I back home, with grandchildren, fill the halls with love and laughter and memories and scoldings not to lick the batter from the bowls and don't touch my vases----my sisters didn't want it. The money ran out and construction has not been completed. I never had means, or the presence of mind to think clearly while sharing a roof with Ichabod, to do anything about it. And during the brief reprieve that I had from him, I found modest, small means to save and complete it. 

I hoped, not so long ago Abbie, to repair the home. Fulfill my mothers vision. I hoped to find a way to you, and to my then estranged husband, and to bring you both back to it. I hoped we could all reunite, after so long, and try…..try, to better to each other. I hoped you would accept my strange out of the blue invitation to bring your child with you to meet their father at last in neutral territory. 

But nothing so cold as a coffee shop or exposed as a park. 

But a former loving family home rebuilt with good intent and a well intentioned heart that honestly truly wants….will have wanted nothing more than for us all to try again. To find friendship. The right bonds of love. I think by then I would have been resolved to you reconciling and being happy about it, and I'd be in love with your son or daughter. With your bright eyes and curling hair and heaven help them be spared Ichabod's towering height, and we might not stay, but we'd come back to that house, from time to time. 

Never so coldly severed and parted from one another again.

Because I have learned this truth. 

We all had purpose, in one another's life. We have all been tied, and we were none of us meant to be separated. There was bonding and love and complex fickle things, but we were not meant to leave each other alone to fend for ourselves and not meant to visit on each other such pain as we have known. 

If you are reading this, it means I have passed. 

And you are now owners of my mother's property, and the beneficiary of the money I left behind to finish repairing my beloved home. The floor plans are enclosed. 

Our lives have known too much destruction, and as the first of us, God willing you will not follow me for some time, I hope to be restful in the after. 

I ask you only this. 

Ichabod, go and find her. Go and heal yourself and tell her I never meant to hurt her, though inadvertently I did. 

Abbie, let him speak. I know you will be so angry but in the short time I knew you I know you are a fair woman. 

I leave this house to you, to repair, to mend, to heal, us all. 

To make it a place of new starts and shared memories and where good, fond, happy things can be born. 

I ask that you share it with each other, in whatever capacity your hearts and minds can allow----I understand that some hurts are too deep to return to things as before----that you share it with friends, with loved ones. 

Make this the place we all needed at some point but never found. 

I ask you to find it here.

Especially you, Abbie. 

For Ichabod alone I'd have let them demolish it all. 

But you, and your little one, to compensate for your pain and the atonement he has failed so long to give you, and for the friendship I wished I could have had---though folly, may be, but we are all allowed our dreams----

Let this be like your childhood home made new.

Where you are loved, and never judged.

And you have all the time in the world to find who you are.

And love who you become.  
*******************  
October 2015

Abbie sets foot through the intricate gate, walks up the cracked and cobbled walkway to the half done house, suitcase in hand. Her eyes water just looking at it. At the beams that fell and the dust and state of decay. This dream that began, once, twice, each time interrupted and forced to rot. This dream she has inherited now. She read that letter ten times. 

Once for every year since she'd seen the last of Katrina. 

"Damn you" she whispers through her tears, her heart breaking for this woman who had thought so much of her, endured so much in her way too, when Abbie had barely spared a thought. 

Hadn't Abraham told her as much?

She had believed herself the only victim in that tragedy for so long. Had retreated into a shell in her hurt while this woman, so far away, living in such misery had decided to use that pain to build. 

To plant new seeds and dare hope they could grow and flourish. 

Katrina has been the definition of strength and bravery that Abbie had spent so long crafting. But I am strong, she thinks now as she reaches for the door handle, I am the strong woman who fought in the end, I fought my way, and she fought hers. After all, life isn't a competition. They'd fought the same war, just used different armour, mounted different attacks to lay waste to their burdens. 

She's so tender inside from this fresh discovery. Katrina's words wedged into all of the tight little spaces of her being, prying, and prying open like a ghostly crowbar. 

Yes, she can admit that day dream folly and silly notion it might have been, but it would have been nice, the way Katrina told it. She wishes they could go back now and have a chance at that unusual circle of friendship.

She grieves afresh for the child Katrina kept hoping to meet. She'd been kind enough to dream of her child---she doesn't know how Katrina found out, and it doesn't matter now, for whom would she take the inquiry? to the woman's grave? She weeps too for the woman who had wanted children but couldn't. 

He took that from us both, Katrina. She thinks bitterly as she walks through room after room of what remains, with the light streaming through the clouds and a wind kicking up. It's probably going to rain. 

Abbie knows now the house has been standing here, abandoned, exposed and defenceless against the elements for two years. Had he found a way to reach her sooner they might have been able to salvage it. As it stands, there might need to be more demolition done before they can start anew. 

That's what the money was for, the account that Crane had signed entirely to her name. To fix this. It's not enough though, she can tell just by looking at it, and she's glad she didn't have any need to spend the money from Crane. This house needs some tender love and care.

Don't we all. 

Blinking tears from her eyes Abbie gets her bearings long enough to get a taxi to the nearest hotel. 

In the morning she hunts for a decent contractor and they go back out to the property and survey the floor plans.

Handed down from mother to daughter.

Now to her. 

It feels good, this project. Meaningful. 

Back in the hotel Abbie's heart fills with a song. 

Not a radio hit. Not her old music. Not Abraham's ode to Eddie. 

A new thing. Untouched and raw and from the heart. 

Her song. In melody and word. 

Hers.  
*************************  
Calvin Riggs: October 2015

The Sleepy Hollow gallery is stuffed to the gills with excited patrons all gathered to see his newest photography exhibit. He fears a fall out for it, truth be told, how many men in this town has Abbie known? To see her this way now? To know he had captured it? But it had been her request, and, after showing the photos to Jenny, had been doubly encouraged that this was an alright thing to do. 

"Welcome, tonight we unveil a rather personal collection. I met this woman some years ago and she left her mark on me, on many of you, in this room I'm sure, in her own way. You might recognize her. If not I will not be giving her name. It's a collaborative work, pictures taken by her and myself. I'd previously titled it 'Captive' but I think by the end you'll have realized there is a bigger story here. I'd like to thank her for that, wherever she is now, for allowing me to be a small character in her greater narrative. In the end, I renamed this project. I give you, the Phoenix" 

And Abbie was seen, in every light. Burning to the ground and rising from her ashes. 

But she was not all that was seen that night. Guests left knowing they had seen parts of themselves, and had seen the triumphant journey to emerging from darkness and reaching towards the light, who left, hopeful, that they too could be freed from their bonds. 

They too could rise.  
************************  
Abbie Mills: November 2015

The contractor did an astonishingly quick, though efficient job. She bought furniture last week and it's being delivered today. She tinkers at the old piano that had somehow miraculously survived, save for some rigorous tuning and other restorations, it functions, more or less. Eventually it might be nothing more than a decorative piece because it's wont to go out of tune so quickly, but it serves her purpose now as she plinks out her little half formed melodies. She records them on her phone and writes down the words that come to mind. Beside her is a magazine with Abraham's face on the cover. 

"Van Brunt's mystery woman?" the cover reads and Abbie had smirked when she picked it up. They'd caught him and Chantal catching up over coffee in NYC. She'd spoken to him on the phone last night and they'd laughed over the absurdity of it. 

"Chantal dislikes spotlight, she was horrified" he'd said. 

"I'm sure Orion didn't take to it either," 

They'd talked until the wee hours. The phone calls were more frequent now. 

He'd listened and exclaimed when she told him what she'd discovered after she'd first read Katrina's letter, and had since kept him up to date on the renovations, and he'd listened very carefully as she'd laid out her next step forward. "I understand." he'd said. "I trust you Abbie," and she felt that trust, that faith in her, no matter what decision she made. She wished he was there now to hold her hand. She misses those hands and gentle eyes that make her feel…at home in her heart. Like she can pour out every single thing inside of her and he could catch it. Like no decision she makes could be wrong as long as she's true to herself at the end of the day. That he values her. 

This time away has given Abbie many new perspectives on who she is. Many hours at night contemplating the things she missed out on, what she held back from. She's been living in such a hard edged straightforward world she'd been missing the nuances and pleasantries of unpredictability, of the spontaneity of life. On dreaming. Existing. Enjoying and discovering. She's living now. She has a taste for the world now and wants to see more of it, but Abbie likes to see things through. So she's got one more task ahead of her, and she expects it will be the true test, the real herald of her arrival as a new woman. 

He sings to her before he hangs up. Quiet and sincere. Her heart grows warmer every time. "Come back home," he implores her. Time has weakened his resolve somewhat. And if she's being honest Abbie likes to hear him beg, just a bit. That he can stop caring about being supportive long enough to want her home. An assurance that while he wishes her all of the joys of the world and the constellations that he is not merely content to watch her drift forever. 

"Soon," she tells him by way of goodnight. "Soon," 

"I just want you in my arms," he confesses. "To fall asleep together instead of so far apart. Unless I am alone in this?"

"We have so much to learn about each other Abraham."

"Love endures," he cuts in. "but you must tend to it, nourish it, put in the damn time and work and it will not abandon you. It doesn't matter how long the road ahead of us is, Abbie. It's our willingness to walk it."  
****************************  
Ichabod Crane: November 2015

He's brought home a sheaf of papers to grade, Nick and Jenny are having a date night so he has the place to himself. He's done teaching for the week, and the Thanksgiving is this weekend. He sifts through the mail and pauses on a letter in a familiar hand.

Enclosed is a ticket and an address. And the words, so short and simple are ones he wrote once before.

Come visit?


	60. Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane's visit with Abbie, new chapters.
> 
> some VERY minor call backs to S3 premiere. Kudos to you if you catch them :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more many thanks for those who have stuck out this journey with me, it's been such a joy, and I honestly do mean to wrap this up in the next couple of days. 
> 
> (I keep saying that and I mean it everytime but then my head gets away from me)
> 
> Leave your thoughts!
> 
> I did my best with this one, apologies for missing moments some of your requested.

Ichabod strolls through the courtyard with the beautiful intricate wrought iron gate, and pauses.

For Ichabod Crane, has been here before. He has seen this beautifully crafted facade of this sprawling home. He recognizes the cobbled stone path leading up to the front door. 

He thinks that Katrina is even waiting by the door outside, opposite Abbie, waiting to greet him. He staggers at the sight. 

This is the house he visited while he had struggled in the hospital. The home that Katrina had forbade him enter lest he cross over from this world to the next. Where Lori Mills and Eddie and The Van Brunts had encouraged him to turn away from the light and return to those of the mortal realm who needed him. It was this house. 

He'd read Katrina's letter, of course, and he'd known what her ghost alluded to, but he'd had no idea then, during that momentary stay between life and death, that THIS had been the house, that THIS was to be the fruits of his late wife's labour.

The revelation is so overwhelming that his knees feel weak as he gapes at the whole thing. 

It's beautiful. Absolutely breath taking.

Abbie waits at the door, hair down around her face, arms folded and making no move to rush forward and greet him, but watches him with a small, tight, bemused smile as he stares in bewilderment. 

"Welcome, Ichabod," Katrina whispers to him, before dissolving into the wood of the house and at last Abbie speaks.

"Welcome, Crane." She pushes open the door and waits for him to follow but an irrational fear has gripped him.

"I can't" he says. 

Abbie quirks a brow at him. 

"I can't….this is the house from my dream, Katrina was in it, your mother, Abraham's family, and Katrina---she was standing right there next to you Miss Mills----"

"Abbie" she corrects

"Abbie---she warned me then if I cross this threshold I'll….I'll cross over. I'll die." 

He waits for the absurdity of his words to settle in. Waits for her to call him a lunatic and turn him away from the door. But when Abbie answers it's with a strange sort of calm, an eerie acceptance. 

"Well. Sometimes I think the house is a little colder than it ought to be. But I'm calling in someone to have a look at the heater tomorrow." she tips her chin up defiantly, ghost or no ghost she will be seeing these final steps through, and it brings a small smile to Crane's lips as he ducks his head in a little bow and follows her in. 

He marvels at the decor. It's not modern and sleek, the way he might have pictured Abbie would have done, but a cross between comfortable and ornate, vaguely ancestral. "I consulted a decorator," she summarizes when she catches him admiring a vase in the hall. "A lot of it is locally crafted, least that's what he told me. Couldn't hear over all his fabric fussing," she muses as she directs him into the living room where he takes a seat and Abbie heads for the kitchen, returning with a proper tea set. It's very at odds to see Abbie so…..aloof, and vaguely domestic as she pours for him---"one sugar or two?" before pouring herself a cup and taking the seat opposite. He lifts the cups and inhales. His eyes snap open and laser in on her, asking a question. Abbie gives a smirk of satisfaction before leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs. She looks very pleased with herself. 

Rather pleased with everything really. 

"One of your blends," she says knowingly. "You sent this one to me once, remember? Thought it suited the occasion."

Crane swallows hard and sets the cup down gently on the table. "Abbie, I must ask why you invited me to your----"

"Ours, Crane" she interjects, with such finality, such conviction there is no room to argue it. There is such ownership in it, and he knows Abbie has already dug her heels in. "Katrina left this place to us," she stresses, taking a sip. "This home? it belongs, to both of us." She takes another sip and leans forward. "Why did you sign over the renovation money to me? Hmm?"

Crane clasps his hands, becomes fascinated with the pattern on the cup. " In light of the grevious hurt I inflicted on you both, I had thought it best---"

"You'd have done well to not think it," Abbie replies coolly, too calm, like there's a rage simmering just beneath, and maybe because it is---Ichabod's abandoning this house, his dead wife's wishes---Abbie feels it as strongly as his abandonment of her in her state. This is the pregnancy all over again. This is Ichabod making decisions for her, for Katrina, for them all, in his best interests because he's a runner and Abbie is NOT HAVING IT again. NEVER again. 

"You're biggest mistake has been you always thought you knew what was best for us," she sneers over the rim of the cup. "What she would want, what I needed, and it was always what you HOPED would work out best for you, but no," she waves a finger admonishingly at him and pours herself another cup. "No, Ichabod Crane. You have stake in this house with me, do you hear me? This, all of this," she waves her arm around, encompassing the room, the house. "this is your inheritance too. And you're not turning your back on it," she snaps. 

Not on Katrina. Not on me. 

"She wanted US to have it and you still tried to defy her. This is ours. Ours, Crane. She left it to us. Ours."

Ours. 

Ours.

The word guts him.  
**********************  
July 2015

"They, could have been ours, Crane"

*********************  
November 2015

She reaches across suddenly and grips his arm. Her eyes shine. "You're not running away from this. We're going to look after this place and fill it with good things, with dreams and memories and grow, we're going to give Katrina, all of us peace. You have a part in this Ichabod and I'll be damned, if after everything, you turn your back on me again with this too." She bites her lip, tilts her head back so the tears won't fall. 

"You're going to take care of this house, with me. You are just as welcome Crane, it's what Katrina wanted and I want to move forward and on with my life and it starts here." her hand slides down to curl her fingers around his. "It starts. Right. Here," 

Ichabod turns his head to the side but the water is already running down the side of his face. He's been fortunate and wasteful to know such strong willed and brave hearted women in his life. He has treated them both poorly and yet they rally again with faith in him. He takes a moment to compose himself, forgets the tea and at last meets Abbie's eyes. 

"Well then." he clears his throat. "Where's my room?"

Day 1

He wakes first, exploring the house, fascinated by it's mere existence and finds himself on the main floor, wandering out towards the backyard. Massive, large thing. Suited for a pool and a growing family with little ones and a few robust dogs and cat or two. 

Or, a garden. He thinks to himself suddenly. Katrina did always like flowers. 

Abbie startles him, stealthily creeping up behind him. 

"I was thinking of a rose bush, right over there, maybe some tulips. Mama liked tulips," she says quietly. 

"Katrina liked lilies" 

She looks up at him, her eyes crinkling. "Jenny likes lilacs,"

"Abraham---"

"Abraham?" she giggles. 

His gaze slides to her, eyes twinkling. "Abraham likes mint, the smell of the herb." 

Abbie is silent for a moment. "Me too," 

Day 3

She joins him on the balcony in the evening they made soup together in the kitchen. The air is chilly and Crane is wearing a heavy sweater he bought the day before, picked one up for his friend too. She leans on the railing, wind kicking up her hair around her. 

"Why didn't you fight for me," she asks, eyes still gazing out into the dimming horizon. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"The day you apologized and dumped all of those papers and money on me……there was a part of me that hated you so much for a long time but had you come back…..I'd have given you hell…..I might have found a way. And part of me was geared up for it, when we met, part of me half expected you to plea with me right then, but then you kissed me and let me go." she stays facing out over the balcony. "I' just thought you'd fight,"

He sidles closer to her, tentatively lays a hand on her back, he lowers his head. "Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice thrumming in her ears. "To fight for you?"

"I shouldn't have to ask you to do it." she says simply "If even for a moment you ever wanted me back at all." 

You'd have told me, then, while you had me, forsaking all others, that you believe in us, through all of our history and hurt that you wanted to try----fire and brimstone it probably would have ended in, but if you wanted me you'd have been desperate for that chance----as desperate as Abraham had been when he kissed me and asked me to marry him. As desperate, as hungry, as steady and as present, as Abraham had been when we'd teetered so close before to crossing boundaries before he broke all of the rules himself, had kissed me until my ears roared and my body lit up from head to toe. 

You'd have kissed me awake, as Abraham had done.

Instead of kissing me goodbye. 

She leans off the railing, laying a hand on his shoulder and she tip toes to kiss his cheek. "Goodnight Crane," and she saunters back inside, down the hall, to her room, picks up the phone and calls Abraham who answers with his voice pitched lower in half sleep but so welcome, so warm to her ears. Embers glow steadily in her chest. 

"Hey," she calls softly. 

"Is Ichabod behaving himself?"

"You're not concerned about me, behaving myself?" she teases.

"The time has come and gone for me to play nice with Ichabod if that's what you're getting at. Everyday, even this far, I'm more attached to you, I miss you even more. I want what's best for you Abbie, and I want you to understand and know with all of yourself what's best for you. And Maybe all of this attention I'm getting lately is making me cocky, but Abbie I'm sure what's best for you is me." 

She smiles slowly to herself on the other end, curling up in the bed with the phone pressed to her ear. Abbie likes that confidence in his voice, the steadiness of it. She stays silent, Abraham has a poetic way of pausing before he makes a point, and it's not something put on, it's not something he practices, he just has an art for delivery and she finds that it makes things inside of her crackle and hum. "I just need you to be as sure of that as I am."

Abbie sighs and pulls up the covers. "Because we don't keep secrets, and best I hurt you now than later, I should tell you that we fell asleep last night, on the couch. Just sleep."

"You have things to sort out and if figuring out once and for all if you still have feelings for Ichabod is part of it, so be it. I'd rather not lose you at all, and I'll fight if it comes to that Abbie. I---"

"You fight for the people you care for," she says warmly. "And I love that about you." 

He goes silent, eyes closing on the other end. "Come home," he emphasizes. 

"I asked why he didn't fight for me."

"And?"

"I don't think he answered. I remembered that you fought. You're still fighting. That's what matters"

Day 4

He makes breakfast and catches her off guard with a kiss. 

it's past, dark and anguish and bitter and sweet, new---like the very first time---like the ones that bid fairwell---it's so achingly familiar---- 

and to fall into this is just an excuse not to run.

Abbie spent years not running, not being in the race, not streaking and winding through the twists and turns, her run, her flight from Sleepy Hollow has enabled her to charge ahead, breathless panting towards the unknown that she finds she no longer fears with such ferocity. 

When she pulls back he looks down at her, his face thoughtful. 

"We are very different people now, Abbie. What we had was beautiful but I marred that, and you were conflicted, even on the steps that day at SHU, and I would not fight for that. I would not fight for two people who were, especially myself, ill suited to help the other . But I would fight for this Abbie, this new, progressed woman who is better than me in every way that I can count. I would fight for her." he brushes her hair back from her face. 

Abbie meets his gaze head on.

"I would fight for the future and what that could be. I would fight for a new bond, Abbie. But the wall of Jericho fell some months ago." his eyes suddenly turn kind and he steps away and back from her. "I think someone else marched around them enough times that they had no choice but to yield." he looks at her knowingly "So I'd fight a new battle in your name Abbie. I think we are capable of more than what we bind ourselves to in the past" 

He sticks his hand out for her to shake and Abbie does, before drawing him in for a hug and they grip each other tight and pat the other on the back. 

It will be a long road, and a completely new terrain this time considering how their dynamic will now change, considering the common factor they now share and it won't be easy, but they're willing to fight this fight, to walk this road. To try their hand again at what they were, before, in the early days, before they both got out of hand and had let deeper things bloom. They're going to plant here, as Katrina had done, new seeds. With new purposes and new destinations. Abbie feels now they are both getting back something they had lost, a most precious precious friendship. It's like they've returned to themselves, the true self, underneath.

"Welcome back Crane," 

"Welcome back, Abbie,"

In the evening she tells Abraham that Crane kissed her. "Bastard." he snipes and Abbie laughs. "I'm glad you find it funny,"

"Abe?"

"Abbie?"

"Sing me song?"

"No, I think it's time you sang one for me" 

They bicker playfully for a moment before Abbie concedes. 

Day 5

They make a modest thanksgiving dinner. "How is it, however, that you two have managed to stay such good friends through all of this?" she takes a bite of the turkey.

Crane ponders, chews, swallows. "Sheer force of will? Abraham and I have known each other too long, even if we had chosen to be malicious toward one another I think we'd have healed. It's our way,"

"How did you take it, when you heard we knew each other?"

"Not very well? I don't think I took it very well," he laughs. "He'd been excited about you the day you met---coincidentally the day you and I had our fall out in the cab---" he shrugs "I saw it coming over him. Fought it valiantly too, but you cracked him."

"I never meant to,"

"Does anyone ever MEAN to fall? 'oh look a raised root I think I'll trip on it'"

That makes her chuckle and he gives a wry smile. "He was still very sure that he was trying very hard to make you and I work. Whatever that would have entailed. I'd made up my mind, by the way before then not to pursue you. Not because you aren't worth it, but we've carried each other around with us many years."

"Like a stone around my neck"

Crane raises a brow at her and she raises one back. "Not a comparison I would have made" he sniffs indignantly and Abbie's face cracks into a smile.

Day 7

She escorts him to the airport. He's got a key to this house now. And an implicit invitation to return to it. 

Because it's theirs. 

She hugs him goodbye and he hugs her back just as tight and it's a relief to be this close without baggage, without nagging wounds. They are still not fully healed but so much closer to functioning in a way that doesn't always assault them with tears or heartache. 

A place where they might fight still but won't endure endless nights of new agonies because old ones refuse to stay quiet and distant. This is healthier. This is better. 

"Come home soon?" he asks. "We all miss you. One in particular."

"Safe flight Crane." and watches him walk away.

She feels so strong to be standing here right now, sending him off, not being left behind. 

You've come a long way Mills, damn long way.

She stays a week longer in the house, books a flight for home. Lights a few candles as she packs, makes arrangements for someone to watch the home while they're away. The candles are the scent Mama used to burn, and she hums a lullaby mama used to sing to her and Jenny. Silly that she thinks it will span the distance and reach her but it makes her feel closer all the same. 

The morning before her flight she plans to step out for a few souvenirs when she catches her reflection in the mirror.

For just a sliver of a second, she thinks she glimmers a woman standing over her shoulder, with long red hair. She turns this way and that, holding her hair up. "I liked when my hair was short, felt freeing, new, like revival," Katrina muses.

Abbie blinks, checks over her shoulder but the woman and the light voice are gone. Imagining things, she thinks, shaking her head. She turns back to her reflection and holds her hair up, off her neck. She hasn't cut her hair in a very very long time. 

She makes an appointment to see a hairdresser before she starts her shopping. She suffers mild anxiety watching the chunks fall off but when she's spun back around she gasps at the airiness of it, how it highlights her face, makes her eyes seem wider even. Alive and free. 

Two images hover in the mirror a moment this time. 

Katrina and Lori smile at her before winking out of sight. 

But she swears she hears them before they go. Tears startle to her eyes but they are tears of triumph.

"Like rebirth," they'd said.   
****************************  
Abbie's return is a silent thing, she comes straight from the airport, Jenny is the only person who knows her flight came in today, and she knew Abbie had something else to take care of first before coming back home. And dealing with the interesting business of evicting Crane. 

It had been one of those things they'd all happened to forget to mention until Abbie had told Jenny she'd booked a flight home. 

She pulls up to Fredericks Manor. Knocks on the door and is let in by a receptionist and she strolls through the rooms until they reach the end of a corridor and the receptionist knocks. Upstairs, in one of the other rooms, Abbie can hear a beautiful soprano voice singing a german aria. 

"Come in," a voice calls and they open the door and Abbie saunters in. 

"well well, I heard it but I didn't believe it," she says and Orion looks up from behind his desk and does a good job of not looking surprised to see her. He beckons her forward and she approaches settling herself into waiting chair. 

"Well?" he prompts, and then gazes fondly at the ceiling where the singer upstairs is now performing something beautiful in french. Abbie watches in astonishment as his eyes actually well and he has to dash a tear away. 

"Samson," the voice sings. "Samson, Je t'aime!" 

"Beautiful," he murmurs. It doesn't matter how many times he's heard her sing it by now, each time it touches his heart. He looks back to Abbie, straightens in his seat. "Well? Can I help you?" he says again, as if he's impatient with her.

Abbie swallows hard but she's not afraid. Nervous, but fear? nope, she's eradicated all of the things that have held her back. She has purged. Now she's just anxious, she's got nervous energy alright, but she's ready to run, to sprint forward in life and never look back. She meets his steady amber gaze. 

"Yes" she says. Orion cocks a brow at her. "Yes." Abbie repeats. "If you still want me,"

Orion smiles widely. "I do,"


	61. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's quick! sorry for staying away so long! life happens :(

Orion has just finished pulling a sheaf of papers out of a file and slides them across to Abbie. She plucks them up, looking them over. "It's like you were expecting me," she grins. 

Orion temples his fingers and shrugs. "I know you." he says. 

"I'd like to take it home to look over,"

"By all means. It's good to have you back, Abbie," he smiles as they both rise from behind the desk. Just then the door swings open. 

Chantal comes in, with her high heeled boots, chic oversized sweater, curls bouncing, fastening earrings as she walks in "Orion I'm headed out now for----Abbie!" she squeals in delight and Abbie throws her arms wide to embrace her. Chantal rocks her from side to side. 

"Had a good flight? You must be exhausted. Oh look at your hair!" she fusses, tousling Abbie's new short do. "It's beautiful. You look well,"

"I feel well Chantal," she replies, beaming at the woman. 

"Wait till Jenny sees you," she turns back to Orion who is gazing at her with a warm soft look on his face. Abbie watches in quiet observation as Chantal takes up her earlier train of thought. "I'm going down to the church for rehearsal---we're getting a Christmas special ready" she adds to Abbie. 

"What about the studio?" he asks, reaching toward her hair his fingers find a forgotten twist and he gracefully unravels it. 

"I think they're shooting his video there today---I have my choir coming down from NYC and some cast members from my show in August, some of the past contestants from Orion's show---he's televising it." she explains, smiling at him while he tucks a curl behind her hair. "And then I've got a few errands."

"You coming home tonight?"

Home? Abbie raises her brows. 

Chantal frowns at him. "You know I can't. I've got that workshop I'm conducting tomorrow. I'll try to swing by before I head out of town but---" Orion flaps his hand in the air. 

"Yeah yeah Tally, just drive safe, alright?" 

"Always," he grasps her hand in his, holding it for a moment in silence until they are both grinning at one another like fools. Abbie watches in fond amusement. 

"You sounded amazing, as always," he whispers. She shakes her head and tugs her hand out of his grasp. 

"You stay out of trouble till I get back Angel," she warns playfully and turns to give Abbie another hug. "It's good to have you home," she murmurs. 

Again Abbie wonders what home means for these two, but there will be time enough for that she's sure. As they pull away Abbie catches a pair of gold and silver angel wings dangling from a chain around Chantal's neck. Oh, she plans to make time that's for sure. It seems a lot has changed since she left Sleepy Hollow. Which is fine, it's good. The world kept turning without her and now she's prepared to turn with it. 

When the room is quiet again Abbie turns on her old friend. "Well?" 

Colour creeps up his neck. "What?"

Abbie nods to the door. "What's going on there?"

"Don't you have other people to visit?" he replies calmly, his eyes flash. 

"She's good for you," Abbie says. "I can't remember the last time, if ever, that I've heard you fawn like that over someone,"

"You've officially over stayed your welcome," he laughs, jovially escorting her toward the front door and locking up behind him. 

"So tell me the story, you bought the manor? you live here now?"

Orion winces. "More a home away from home? I've spent more time here than my LA place. It's acting office and home at the moment. Chantal stays in her room when she gets back from conferences or choral performances what have you----it's 'home' for us. in the meantime."

"That necklace," Abbie teases as they stroll down the driveway. "You give her that?"

"You know Mills I don't remember you being nosey."   
**************************  
She stops for coffee with Orion and they chat a bit more about the contract and he asks if she worked on anything and he regards her with pleasant surprise when she says that in fact, she did. 

"No," she protests when he asks to have a listen. "No…..these are special. I want to share them with my most trusted listener first. And even then, I don't know if I want to mass produce this. Later this week after he's had a listen you can hear it."

Orion smirks and checks his watch. "If your most 'trusted listener' is who I think, he should be done shooting for the day. We'll talk later Abbie," as they part he squeezes her shoulder.

"You better not be ripping me off in the fine print Angel." she calls over her shoulder and Orion gives her a mock glare as he disappears around the corner. It's midday and Abbie is beat but she's got one more stop. Even in her fatigue, she can certainly find energy for that.   
*************************  
Abraham dumps his belongings on the couch, marching straight for the shower. He lets the warm water beat on him and when he emerges changes into comfy clothes for around the house, sliding his feet in slippers a furious racket begins at the door. With a small groan he drags himself over, and opens the door. 

It's been four months since he's seen her. Four months since the kiss that changed everything, the departure that symbolized her flight and the first time Abbie had ever left someone behind. He stands there, dumbstruck. She never even told him she'd booked a flight. 

But she is there, present, glorious in her presence on his doorstep, what a gift to see those eyes, and that smile and he doesn't even think about reaching forward to touch her hair. 

It sparks her into action and she steps into his arms, latching on tight and his arms lock around her in turn. He doesn't know how long they stand like that until she pulls away, snatches his collar and drags him down to meet her. 

A match strikes.

Her lips are so soft and warm beneath his own, so, welcoming, he can barely pull away to catch a breath as she keeps backing him into the house, stumbling over the threshold and down he goes, taking her with him and his back smarts as it impacts with the floor but this is just a better angle for her anyway as she scrambles closer to him. Holding his face in her hands and kissing him over and over so tenderly. His tiredness fades and his brain crackles to life and his hands come up to her waist, blissfully holding her there while they keep trading kiss after kiss and her lips trail to the side of his face and then over his eyelids and once more, long and lingering on his mouth before she breaks apart from him. His eyes blink open and she's smiling down at him, chocolate eyes glittering down at him and she whispers, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'm home,"

He smiles back at her. "I'm, home"

Because home, is where you make it, is where the heart is, and even with miles between them and a beginning that seemed whirlwind and improbable then, they hadn't let up. The flame was still there, dancing and flickering even on the coldest darkest night, they are still bright eyes and fearless and want this, see the value in it, in each other, they dare now to be free. 

They dare to choose each other of their own accord, with no other conflicts or pressing engagements looming over the horizon. They chose to hold the other in their heart, and similarly refused to let themselves be ousted from the other. 

Her eyes shimmered at him behind his closed eyelids. 

And his voice lulled her to sleep and woke her in the mornings.

And the flame kept burning. Kept shining. 

It kept.


	62. Your Ears Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Abraham intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many kisses, and domestic things. Vaguely smutty(its not my strong suit :/)

Abbie sweeps her thumbs across his cheekbones and he grins at her. "Your eyes," she says softly. "You know the first thing I noticed about your eyes?" Abraham gazes back at her in fond silence. The door is still wide open from when they crashed through it, and her luggage too, and he means to remind her but there's something completely entrancing about being caged in by a small bodied, fiery woman such as Abbie, looking at him with such affection. "How kind they are," she says before brushing her lips lightly on his. "Every single time that I have been in a daze or confused, one look in your eyes Abraham and, my world settles right down. The fog clears. I'm alright," 

He brushes his knuckles against her cheek. "I've missed you," he rasps, suddenly overcome. "If that wasn't clear before, Abbie, I----please stay here tonight," he pleads. She leans back from him slightly, accessing. He smiles softly. "I don't mean anything by it----but honestly all I want right now is for you to be here, and please still be here in the morning."

"You sound scared," she rolls off of him and Abraham rises into a seated position. She takes his face in her hands and turns him towards her, searches his eyes. "Talk to me," she implores him, stroking his face. "Please,"

"This life," he starts. "Ever since I've won this thing, my life, is nothing like it was, nothing. And I love the change, I have no regrets about it but God, Abbie I wanted you to be here with me through it. I wanted to be there with you. I wished, so many times that you could have come to those interviews and that I could have seen the sights with you but you were on your journey and I'm on mine and…..I just want a moment where this journey can be ours. Just us." he reaches up and lifts her hands from his face holding them in his own. "I'm just not ready for us to take separate roads again just yet. I just," he sighs and bows his head. "I want you to come with me. Wherever I go Abbie you're welcome. I want you, but….I need, I need you to still pursue your life Abbie I---"

"Don't you do that to me now Abraham," she cuts in, her voice steady. "Don't you start fussing over me now, okay? I've had time to clear my head and I'm VERY clear on who I am and what I want out of life and you don't need to worry about being an obstacle to me in anyway. You told me it doesn't matter how long the road ahead of is, it's our willingness to walk it." she licks her lips and leans in until their foreheads touch. "I've got sturdy shoes on so let's do this," His eyes shut and then open and he starts laughing in relief. 

"You're incredible, you, you morph and grow and reemerge and I---"

"Can you get my bag?" she asks with a smile. "And shut the door." she rocks back on her heels and stands, tousling her hair and inhales deeply. "I'm going to take a shower, and then….then I have something to show you," 

Abbie bathes using his body wash, a clean sort of musky scent that she quickly decides she rather likes, and she will probably be making a habit of using it in the future. 

Future. 

Huh.

There's a switch for you, she muses to herself as she rinses her hair. Abbie Mills, Me, thinking nonchalantly of the future and not feeling a single bit of panic or worry. More like peace, more like a surety that should terrify her, or used to, having this kind of trust and faith used to be thing to be feared for Abbie, used to be something that could turn on her at any moment---and it still could, because life is unpredictable that way---but Abbie is willing to let herself feel everything there is to feel, to hope and dream and look forward. That is how Abbie really knows she's changed. 

She locks the water off and steps out, he got her clean towels and she wraps one around her self and her hair and begins the business of moisturizing, humming as she does so, so at home maneuvering around his home it's almost scary, but thrilling too. When she's done she wraps herself up again and saunters out, pads across the hall into his bedroom and does not care about the racket she makes searching around for a night shirt. 

"Abbie?" he calls from the living room, his voice drawing nearer. "You alright?"

"Just looking for something to sleep in," she replies and looks up to see him leaning on the doorframe, arms folded, a smile on his face. As if the image of Abbie rummaging through his things in her towel is the most precious, endearing thing. And the most attractive. He's suddenly very aware of her nakedness. In his home. And, the smell of himself, really, that's his body wash he smells and she's cloaked in it, he's all over her skin in that small way alone. He feels warm all over.

"Here," he offers, stepping into the room and finding the right drawer, he searches until he draws out a checkered flannel that he'd bought once a size too big and hands it to her, quickly dashes away from the room and returns with her suitcase. "In case you need something else in there," he says pointedly with a small smirk as he leaves. Abbie watches him go, smiling to herself as she drops the towel and flings the shirt over her head, it comes to her knees which is perfect for this time of year, and then she fishes in her luggage for a pair of undies. "Decent?" he hollers.

"You tell me," she teases and he strolls back in, beams at the sight of her in his oversized shirt and her bare feet.

"I've got the heat on, but, I bought these the other day, hoping you'd be back before spring," he jokes, he opens another drawer and pulls out a pair of knitted socks. "They're 'faux shearling lined reading socks'" he recites dutifully as he presents them to her. "Sales woman said they keep your feet extra warm and that they were all the rage last year, so," he shrugs. "I bought you three pairs. I've got red, fair isle, and these," he offers her the grey ones in his hand. 

"Grey," Abbie says, sitting down on the bed and extending her feet. "Could you?" 

Abraham's gaze ticks to Abbie and the smile on her face. She's flirting with me, he realizes. They'd fallen for each other in the most unconventional way but they'd managed to skip all so many of the fun little ins and outs and nuances of getting to know one another, and now they have time for it, now they can be this way and be plain and straightforward about it. So much to explore, share, enjoy. He grins as he pulls the sock on her foot and then hauls it up her calf, let's his fingers caress the skin there, lingering as he runs them just slightly higher and leans in to peck her cheek. She's still smiling at him as he repeats the process on the other leg and then she scooches back on the bed and pats it for him to join. 

It's easy as breathing when he slides into the bed and Abbie nestles into him, making a happy sigh before bouncing off the bed to grab something in her jacket pocket. She returns with her phone and forms. He sits up a little straighter as she settles in beside him again. "As far as my journey goes," she says, offering him the contract from Orion to read. His eyes widen and he looks to her, the forms, back at her again and before Abbie registers what's happening her back hits the mattress and Abraham is kissing her, so slowly, so lovingly. 

"Are you proud of yourself Abbie?" he breathes when he pulls away. "Because I am so damn proud of you right now I don't know how to even explain it,"

"Well, wait, because there's more." she swipes through her phone and launches one of the recordings she made abroad. She holds a finger to her lips for him to listen, and listen he does. 

"You shed light, in my corners, put song, in, my heart. I was in a tortured slumber, and you kissed me awake. You held my hand in darkness, now I have the courage to brave the day. You're the only one who knows this, the only one I'd tell, what I say here to you now, darling is for, Your, Ears, Alone." he looks to her and she nods. "You inspired the title," she admits and he reaches for her hand, grips it tight. "I am prepared to run toward tomorrow, won't you run the race with me, I'm ready for those unchartered lands, say you'll go where I lead. You gave and gave and gave to me, wings to fly, courage to leave, will you let me give and give to you, the whispers in my heart? You're the only one who knows this, the only one I'd tell, what I say here to you now, darling is for, Your, Ears, Alone." 

He tears up. He can't help it he's so deeply moved. Silently, he lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

"In doubt it cried and clawed for you. In fear, it roared and raged. I fought it, I imprisoned it, I kept it in a cage. But my flimsy bars were no match for me, my heart grew strong and bold, and clawed and roared and thrashed and tore until it could be heard, screaming; I love you, I want you, I am yours if you're mine. I need you, I'll keep you, safe, here with me, for all time. I love you, I want you, kiss me again you'll see. What I say here to you now darling, is for, Your, Ears……Alone," the music finishes petering out, leaving behind the resonance of Abbie's strong voice and her poetic, passionate words echoing in the room. For a moment all Abraham can do is stare at her in wonder. 

"Abbie," he starts, chokes and clears his throat. 

"You asked me while I was away if I care. Hell yes I do. and I mean it Abraham, this song is yours, I don't wanna record it, don't wanna distribute it, it's just for you. I have others, but, but that one,----"

"Play it again, please?"

She does. This time around he asks her to sing it with the recording too. So she does, the way only Abbie can, harmonizing with herself and she watches Abraham's face, so warm and open and in love with her that it's hard for her concentrate on her own song. "I love you, I want you, I am yours if you're mine," he moves towards her then, holds her gaze as he sweeps another hand under her back and lays her back on the bed gently, begins placing kisses on her neck. 

"I need you, I'll keep you, safe, here with me, for all time." she breathes as he climbs over her, locking their fingers as he seals his lips over hers. The recording on her phone keeps playing. 

"I love you,"

Too many kisses to count. Eager lips, teasing teeth and dancing tongues. Throat, cheek, fingertips. Lips colliding joyously again and again. 

"I want you,"

Buttons come undone, fingers find warm skin, stroking, caressing curves and muscles, nails dragging lightly. Gasp when his lips move across her chest, kisses and sucks as she moans softly, hands in his hair, before trailing down her stomach. Parted legs. There.

"Kiss me again you'll see."

So many places to kiss, so many ways. She arches off the bed. Wandering, meandering, touch, taste, feel each moment tenderly, tenderly. Firsts happen once. Take time. Ride this wave. Enjoy it. Hands grasping, guiding. Here. Snug, perfect fit. Oh here, yes, yes, yes. A tide comes in, it washes back out. In. Out. In. Out. Coiled springs, wires pulled taut, wound tight. 

"What I say here to you now darling, is for, Your,"

"Abbie,"

"Ears"

"Abraham,"

"Alone,"

Starbursts and confetti. Trumpet blasts and thunder crashing overhead. Ragged breaths slow once more to soft sighs, happy exhalations.

Limbs twine, lips join again. Bodies curling around each other closer, closer still. Blanket for cover. Snuggle in deeper. 

"I love you," they murmur. "I love you"


	63. Surprise? II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quick chapter
> 
> wonky timeline but i think we're in late november early december
> 
> picks up directly after Abbie and Abe's first night together. 
> 
> something have changed, in big ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for every time I lied about when I would finish this, I sincerely apologize.
> 
> If you're still reading, you're a trooper and I admire you and thank you for your support and readership <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Leave your thoughts if you have any! thanks again!

Waking up next to Abraham is a new thing. 

Abbies eyes blink open and take in the muscular arms wrapped so securely around her nakedness, the chiseled chest and up to throat. She discovered she really enjoyed the sound that he made when she kissed him there last night. She revels in the heat radiating off of him and the way her feet absently rub against his beneath the covers. She presses her palm against him and feels his heartbeat there, fingers and eyes wandering over the planes of this man that is hers. She laid claim to him last night with reckless abandon. She will feel only a little apologetic about the scratches on his back later.

So this, is a brand new experience for them both. And there will be many more new things, she thinks cheerfully to herself, smiling up at the man who just woke her with kisses on her forehead and gently stroking thumbs. "Good morning," he greets warmly, brushing his lips on her nose. 

"Morning." she yawns and glances pointedly down at themselves all wrapped up in each other. "Not quite how I imagined my first night back," she smirks.

"I got carried away," he supplies and Abbie reaches up to his face. 

"Feel free to do that," she encourages. "I'm game for being swept up---haven't let myself do that in a long while."

He kisses her " Well you're gonna be plenty swept up by life in general once Orion gets his hooks into you. But then we'll be completely exhausted together," his eyes crinkle with mirth. 

"What about when you get your hooks into me?" she challenges, pressing slightly closer. Her heart picks up speed as his gentle gaze flickers, briefly, toward something more primal. 

"I can keep you pleeeeenty busy, trust me," he assures while caressing her face. She feels her face heat up and coughs, breaking eye contact and amazed that she is still capable of getting flustered. 

"Looking forward to it. Now, what are you making for breakfast?"

"Not a damn thing," he chuckles, swinging his legs out of the bed and tossing the blankets off of her. Abbie gasps from the cold. 

"Damn you!" 

"Let's shower, and then we'll go collect Jenny and Nick, and we'll go for breakfast," He extends a hand to her and Abbie takes it as he leads them into the bathroom. 

When they emerge, after Abraham watches her, enthralled by her care routine and offering to help---which in itself had come dangerously close to needing a second shower territory---- the two of them had stumbled out, flushed faces, laughing and teasing back into the room where once more Abbie starts tearing through his closet. He doesn't ask why she's developed this affinity for his things because he loves the sight of it too much. He plucks out a few sweaters for her to choose from even. She squints her eyes at the choices, then back at him before plucking up a green one. "Matches your eyes" she explains and Abraham scoffs. He plucks up a warm dark brown one for himself. 

"Matches your eyes," he retorts when she cocks a brow at him. He finishes his look with jeans, her's with skinny jeans, their boots and decide on a leisurely stroll over to the house. Abbie dials while they're on the way. 

"So I'm guessing you slept with him" Jenny answers brightly. 

"Jenny!" Abbie hisses, Abraham looks down at her curiously but just slings an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in closer. 

"That's a yes," and she can hear the wicked glee in her sisters voice. 

"We're on our way over," Abbie continues, ignoring her. "Get ready we're getting breakfast."

"Oh good, I'm starving,"

Abbie checks her watch. "Have you even been up long enough to be starving?"

"I'm ravenous these days, don't ask me why," and there's an odd teasing note in her sisters voice that Abbie can't quite make sense of. 

"Maybe you've got a tape worm,"

"Ha ha very funny," and the phone hangs up. 

When they knock on the door, it's Crane who answers. 

There is nothing more bizarre on this earth, Abbie thinks, then Ichabod Crane inviting her into her own home. "Abraham!" he greets enthusiastically, throwing his arms around the man and then peering at Abbie. "Miss Mills," he says warmly, stands back to take in the pair of them together. Abraham's arm around Abbie's shoulders, the glow on her face, the sweater----"that's not yours is it?" he gestures to her. "I think it's a bit big,"

"It's Abrahams" 

That leaves him opening and shutting his mouth for a moment. Of course, she just came from there, spent the night. The meaning settles in with a sort of crystal clear clarity. This is a true, real thing, not the murmurings and fretting of his best friend back in the summer. He takes in the picture of these two together, looking like the sun has risen in their faces. He smiles genuinely at them both. "Your haircut is lovely," he nods then calls over his shoulder for Jenny who looks decidedly….different from when she saw her sister last. But first she must address the ring on Jenny's finger. 

"The hell!" she gasps, stepping in and taking Jenny's hand in her own. Nick appears over her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. 

"She was distracted enough after you left to let me slide that on her finger," 

"He's not kidding," Jenny drawls lazily. "I woke up with the damn thing on and haven't had the heart to take it off since," but the look on her face utterly betrays her, Jenny twirls that ring on her finger fondly every night before she goes to sleep.

"How could you not damning well tell me!" she exclaims. 

"Because I wanted a surprise when you got back," she answers, stepping forward to embrace her sister and…..yes, something feels different about Jenny…..

"Wait a minute," Abbie pulls back. "Turn around," she instructs. Rolling her eyes Jenny throws her hands in the air and begins a slow rotation and there it is there---- Abbie's hand shoots forward and settles on Jenny's abdomen. She looks up and meets Jenny's eyes. "My God, Jenny," she says quietly, reverently, "Jenny. Jenny?" she asks and when her sister nods Abbie folds her in her arms once more, tears spring to her eyes. "Oh my God. Jenny, Jenny I'm so happy for you,"

"You're going to be an auntie. I expect you to spoil them." Jenny manages between her own joyful tears. 

"I'm so mad at you right now," she laughs and then turns over her shoulder and smacks Abraham, and Crane too. "You had to have known," she accuses them. "How could you BOTH keep my sister being pregnant and ENGAGED from me?"

"What," Jenny cuts in. "Can't a girl have a few secrets?" 

And because the juxtaposition of it so absurd, so far from who Abbie once was, she laughs, she cries and laughs and marvels at the abundant joy in her heart. Life is so different now but she can't begin to picture the day getting any better.

"So….I've decided I'd like to keep the house. We kept cleaning out stuff after you left, but" she pats her belly.Abbie is doing the math in her head. It's a small bump four, five months? but that would mean Jenny had gotten pregnant almost immediately after Abbie left-- "if that's alright with you?"

"How far along are you?"

Jenny's eyes shift. "Shortly after you left, I….I've always been irregular, you know that," she whispers. "The third month rolled around and I got suspicious," she shrugs. "And I really wanted to tell you in person. The tea bag over there guessed,"

"Miss Jenny's eating habits changed, rather drastically." Ichabod explains. "I'd been concerned,"

Abbie is mildly more concerned that Jenny hadn't noticed she was gaining weight. 

"And he told me I should take Jenny to a doc, and there you have it," Nick beams. Abbie looks over at Abraham and they share a look.

Can you believe this? she asks. His amused expression tells Abbie probably nothing can shock Abraham anymore. Abbie pivots, nodding to Crane. "Keeping the house and him too? Or is this your polite way of evicting me?" she jokes. 

There's a moment of flustering and sentences that start and stop. Well, this is awkward, they all seem to say. Abbie's back and all, but of all things they've gotten a little attached to Crane, no one wants to throw him out and Crane seems rather adamant on not moving back in with Abraham. 

For her part, Abbie wants a few things that remain in the space, and she's more than happy to keep the home in the family. But she's shed so many layers of skin, so many faces and she has a rather intimate bond with the house---the place she called haven and home because she dared not trust herself. Yet, Abbie is her own home now, within herself. Within her heart. It's a startling realization for Abbie to hear herself say, "I….I'm not moving back in," 

She's met with curious silence. Perplexed expressions. Crane starts, "Abbie, I had no intention of encroaching on your territory---"

"Abs we can work something out," Jenny assures but Abbie shakes her head firmly. Abrahams hand lands on her shoulder, squeezes it gently. And Abbie hadn't even thought quite that far yet, but he seems to be there already. It jolts Abbie how intuitive and ready Abraham seems to be, for everything and anything. It's so easy and natural for him, of course this next step makes sense to him. Any other woman---hell SHE'D have been spooked by the idea mere months ago----but nothing has been conventional with Abraham. She fell for the man in a matter of weeks and that bond had miraculously managed to hold steady and had the audacity to grow and deepen during their time apart. Abbie gets the feeling it could be very easy for her to completely lose her head with this man. 

And she wouldn't give a damn. 

In fact, she finds herself thinking, it could be a LOT of fun. 

"How about I get you a key" Abraham suggests softly. 

Ichabod is once more observing them, already so intimate and nuanced. He feels the smallest pang for something that could have been, but there's a stronger sense of resolve, of happiness for his brother and friend being this happy and open with someone besides Ichabod himself. And strange comfort that it is, knowing that it's Abbie, a woman of strong character, stronger heart, assures him that both are in the very best of care with one another. He smiles.

Abbie's eyes find Abraham's, a slow smile creeping across her face. "You think of everything don't you," 

"I'm of a very one tracked mind recently"

"You're okay with this?" Jenny asks, incredulous. Abbie laughs, throwing her hands up in the air. 

" What the hell. Yes Jenny." she looks her over from head to toe, bites her lips together, eyes crinkling, "Mama would be so happy and proud of you."

Jenny wraps her hand tightly around her sisters. "Of us. Mama is damn proud of us."


	64. Who We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflective bit right after Abbie and Abraham discover Jenny's pregnant. 
> 
> Someone once asked for more about Chantal and Orion......so uh....here's more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long gap, I apologize. No, this is not the final chapter. good news is I have most of that sketched out.
> 
> If you're still reading this, bless your heart, thank you for being so patient with me <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts if you have them!

It is evening when Abbie turns on the television and gapes at an image of her and Abraham walking down the street on their way to Jenny's that morning. She stares at it transfixed. It's TMZ and the room is buzzing with their chatter. 

"So we caught a picture of Abraham Van Brunt today out with this woman,"

"Ooh, she's pretty,"

"Is that the same woman we saw him with in New York?" one of them eagerly queries. 

"No! It's not!" one of the girls object. "This is a totally new girl."

"So is he playing the field or what?"

"Who knows but she's gorgeous. We didn't get an interview, but look at them, this must be something that's been going on for a while."

"She's clearly wearing his sweater, they got that glow going on, they just came from his place,"

"You know, I think I know her face. That photographer, Calvin Riggs had an exhibit back in October---" Abraham clicks the screen off in front of her face. She turns to face him, stunned. 

"When on earth,"

Abraham shrugs. "You'll get used to it. I hope you will…..Abbie, that's….that's going to be your life now, getting back into music. Our life, if you stay with me,"

"There isn't an if where that's concerned," she answers. "I'm just shocked by the quickness of it. I didn't see anyone---"

"They make a living doing this. Are you okay?"

"What was Harvey Levin saying about Rigg's exhibit?"

Abraham's face colours. "It made news down here. It was a hit. People were very moved by it, connected with the imagery, your journey. You're beautiful in it. So raw and vulnerable and sharp edges and brave. They ran articles and---"

"How did I not hear about any of this?"

"You were too busy on your journey to care about these gossip shows."

Abbie considers for a moment, still dazed. 

"I give them a day before they go digging around and someone gives them your name. Calvin didn't publish it, but people know you around here. Missed you even. Gertrude brought me a cake shortly after you left."

"A cake?" she laughs. 

Abraham smiles softly. "I don't know what's going on between you and that nice girl, but I heard she left town, and I hoped this might help brighten your day, she'd said. And then plunked down a raspberry cake,"

"With champagne?" she teases. 

His eyes crinkle. He plunks down on the sofa and holds his hand out to her. She glides over to him, easily settling herself down on his lap. "I'm sorry I left you, you know."

"We're not going to start this off being sorry for being true to who we are. Okay?" he leans in and kisses her nose. 

"Is….is that exhibit still up?"

"It is. I'll take you tomorrow." he nuzzles her neck and then sighs, reaching for a hand and toying with her fingers. "So. Tell me. How are you?" his voice low and confidential. 

Abbie pauses, considering. "What do you mean?"

"Jenny?"

What about Jenny, she almost asks, and then remembers in a thundering way. Like a storm breaking overhead. Her sister is bringing a child into the world. Her sister is growing life within her womb. Her sister-----that one thing that had so scarred Abbie, Jenny is going to have it now. And as far as she can tell, an utter and complete security Abbie hadn't the luxury to experience. A ring. A home. A forever. She supposes now, in hindsight, that perhaps Jenny hadn't told her because she worried how Abbie would take it over the phone. But it's good news. Joyous news. She's also far happier for her sister than she had the sense to be for herself back then. That pregnancy had come with a sort of tricky comfort. That unborn would have already been charged with the burden of promising not to leave Abbie, at least for eighteen years. No child should come into the world already laden with a duty predetermined for it. And yet, through the joy there is still the slightest sting. Not jealousy. No. But an awareness. Awoken to the fact that there will be a baby shower, and clothes to buy and a baby to bounce in her arms, a toddler to look after, a youth to mentor, maybe, if she's lucky enough to be admired by her niece or nephew, for years to come. 

"I'm going to be an auntie," she replies, eyes shining brightly. Too brightly. Tears barely being kept at bay. 

"She's pregnant, Abbie," he says, each word slow and deliberate. Searching. Bless his consideration that with their relationship still so new in some ways, he has enough instinct and caring in him to look for these small instances. To know that besides incredible happiness, there will be just a little something beneath the surface. In the past Abbie would have been irritated by a man who presumed to know her, to think he can predict her every move and whim. However Abraham is not like that. He is not assuming he knows her but asking. It touches her. Still, Abraham is asking to know her. She nods and blinks, looking away from him for a moment. "I wanted to know how you're feeling about that." 

"I'm beyond excited for her, you know that. It's just that……I haven't always been one hundred percent careful, when I dated after Crane. Maybe I was tempting fate. Maybe a part of me was hoping for another…..accident, and I'd hide it away, proper, this time and---this sounds twisted doesn't it?"

"No censoring here," he says gently, sweeping her hair back from her face. 

"I never had a scare. Not once. I've wondered sometimes if maybe….maybe I can't…..that I won't….."

His arms crush around her. "Nothing happens before its time. You weren't really yourself, during those years Abbie. I don't think it would have been a right time for you to become a mother"

"No, I wasn't." she admits, her voice shrinking. And to herself, reflecting on the years come and gone, it wouldn't have been with the right man either. She glances at him quickly. 

Wonders if she's far gone enough to begin entertaining frivolous notions. "it was so brief," she recalls, and Abraham doesn't need her to clarify. 

He kisses her temple. "Abbie. You went on your voyage, and you came back changed, you dealt with a lot of things holding you down, keeping you back but that doesn't mean it'll just evaporate. There will still be moments when it comes back. Moments when you cry. when you might still feel broken but you moved through it and you're ready to live the life you're capable of having and deserve. And this I promise you; I will lift you up. I will not let you stay down when you fall. I will push you and challenge you because you are multifaceted and glorious. I will never let your light, go out. I love you. I will always make you shine." he vows, his own eyes bright with tears. He loves her. Oh, how he loves her, she can feel it down to her toes just the way he's looking at her. He means every word, she imagines Abraham lifting her up high over his head towards the sun and letting it beat down on her, letting her bask in it's radiance because he sees so much hope and promise in her. 

Even in a stormy sky Abraham will see the light breaking through the clouds. He will look for rainbows. If Abbie ever gets lost she has no doubt in her mind that Abraham will look for her, continue to search for her. It means so much, that he wants all of her. The old, the changed, the new, the bits in between, even the unforeseen this ravenous man wants. He wants all of her. Loves all of her. Past present future. 

"I am in grave danger of losing all of my wits with you" she confesses, resting her forehead against his. 

"I am yours," he whispers. "Everything and anything I can give, is yours. Just give me you,"

"You have me," she assures him, beginning to trail light kisses across his face. "I love you Abraham." their lips connect, so sweet and longing and so much fire she wonders if this will ever stop consuming her. She hopes not. She loves feeling like she might combust. Like there are flares going off beneath her skin wear his fingers skim over her underneath his oversized sweater. She straddles him, grinding against him and hears him groan. 

"Oh Abbie. No. no sweetheart," he chuckles, she feels him rumble against her and she gets a delightful thrill out of it. "No. Only the bed for you,"

"Only?" she asks in mock disappointment. 

"Just until I can't possibly be in it without imaging us together. Then," he rises with her still latched on to him, arms around his neck, legs locked about his torso, his hands cupping her bottom as he marches them down the hall. "Then, when the bed is well worn, we will dent the walls and buckle the floors and no surface will be safe."

"Lofty goals,"

"Slow and steady and we'll get there. That's how I intend to take care of you, right now, by the way. Very, very, slowly." he murmurs as he lays her on the bed and starts at her neck before his fingers find the edge of her sweater and he changes tack keeps mapping his trail, fingers lips and tongue. Pushing the sweater just a little higher as he goes along until he's at the underside of her bra.

"You're a cruel man," she taunts breathlessly. 

"You can call me cruel when I'm done with you," he teases, hot breath puffing against her, giving her a wicked smirk. A hand works around her back and unlatches her bra. "I expect you to get creative with the words you call me"

Abbie calls him several things during that night. Some so outrageous Abraham can't help but laugh.

"I'm gonna have to write some of those down, for posterity,"  
***************************  
August 2015: Chantal Adams

Chantal Adams is not usually, easily, genuinely surprised. Pleasantly caught off guard maybe. Intrigued by a new development. And more often than not thrown in a maddening whirlwind of frustration when a last minute detail falls through. But she's so strange to it, so alien to the concept of conscious effort to be nice to her---outside of her own family---- she doesn't quite know how to respond to the image of Orion and his massive bouquet outside the theatre doors. She thinks she feels her mouth start to curl into something like a smile if not open mouthed incredulity. Her mind works furiously. She is positive she only ever mentioned the date and venue to him once, if ever. And Orion is not known for his impressive memory of small details. He's always had a selective mind. Only holds on to what directly affects or is of worth to him. What fits his description of important. 

So it means something, her brain is slow to process, that he latched on to those bits of information and is here now. A complete shock for she'd had no inkling he'd attend. Their lives are always so busy she hadn't even invited him, really. Hadn't expected it was possible for him to come. And then the interesting thing happened when Daniel emerged from the doors behind her shortly afterwards. 

It's only a flicker. Only a brief flash of an emotion Chantal might call jealousy, but Daniel's own joviality diffuses what could otherwise become a charged moment in seconds. "Great job Chantal! wonderful!" and in his over affectionate way----a deliberate embarrassing thing he used to torment even Abraham with, headlocks and bear hugs that made Abraham's face turn red---he throws an arm around her pulling her in tight and smacks her cheek. "I'm glad I came!"

"Daniel this is Orion," she interrupts, still studying Angel who holds his hand out for Daniel to shake. "Friend of Abraham's and mine," she further explains. Orion nods. 

"Oh!" Daniel exclaims. "Love your work man. Do good with my buddy alright? Chantal, babe, I've gotta head back out on the road, but you get back to me about what we talked about!" and then he's clapping them both too hard on the shoulder and sauntering away. 

"Babe?" Orion repeats. 

"Danny is like that." Chantal flaps her hand in the air and takes the bouquet from her friend. "Grief, what did you do, clear out the florists?" she teases and is, for the second time, genuinely surprised to see Orion flush. Well this is new, she thinks. 

"What did you two talk about?"

"None of your beeswax." she retorts, truly smiling now because this new Orion, this mildly jealous and transparent one, is a sight to behold. "Old friends making plans. How about you tell me why you're here?"

He blinks at her, perplexed. "To be there for you," he answers, voice full of warmth and truth. "I don't think I've ever really been there for you, Tally. I thought now might be a good time to start," 

"Thank you," she inhales the blooms. He doesn't know this but Chantal has never cared for flowers. Flowers and chocolates and the other traditional courting frippery---or whatever it is that typically makes women weak in the knees. But she can appreciate thought. She does like the thought. So while she doesn't give a damn about which flower is in this bouquet, and she will never be one to declare that she has a favourite, she can enjoy this gift from Orion. She can love every single bloom and they're unique scent, just the sight of the overbearing array of colour. It's extravagance. It's like him. 

But at the end of the day they're just flowers in a grand display. 

Orion is just a man, who likes to show off now, didn't always, but can, and so he does. Her romantic mind titters.

It's like he's given you a metaphor of himself. She almost snorts. Orion does not have enough of the poetic in him to be that abstract and clever. And Yet.

"Better late than never" she murmurs, nose deep still in the bouquet. 

Glinting amber eyes locks with hers. "My thoughts exactly,"

September 2015

Chantal delicately coughs when her tea goes down the wrong way. "Come again?"

Orion rolls his eyes, as if she's the one being difficult. "Move into the manor"

"Move into the manor?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Is there a doctor near by?" 

"Chantal," he drawls, tenting his fingers on the table. 

This is the seventh time they've gotten together since August. They're having brunch today, it's still warm enough to sit outside but chilly enough for her to be in a sweater and scarf, hair pulled back gently into a bun. Orion wears a cardigan over his t shirt, some well worn jeans. Their friendship has been more insistent since he surprised her in August. In fact this is the first time that she's been back in Sleepy Hollow since. He's the one who has been making efforts to visit her, wherever she's wound up in the past couple weeks. Her show got picked up for a Broadway run, starting in October, and she's just committed to mentoring Macey, full time. It's going to mean a lot of travel for her, and too many nights in a hotel. So this suggestion should be a God send. 

But It's Orion. 

"You're going to be busy getting set up, won't it be nice not having to worry about where you're staying between there and here. You don't have an assistant planning these things for you, let me help,"

Let me take over, she thinks unkindly. Chantal has done very well, for a very long time, by herself. "I have managed worse without you," she says, brows knit together. "I only see Macey once a week, which really isn't that bad. And the Irvings are willing to drive to commute. We're adaptable,"

Orion closes his eyes and releases a breath. "Tally,"

"Just tell me what makes you think it's a good idea?" she prods. 

He shocks her then by reaching across the table for her hand. "I'm a good cook?"She's not surprised to find the key pressed in her hand when he releases her. 

"You're impossible" she huffs a laugh, shaking her head, knowing already some insane stupid part of her is going to agree. "On anyone else I'd call it insanity,"

"But on me?"

"Typical Angel"

Arrangements, absurd and beyond rationality she's self convinced but Chantal has made arrangements to move in by the end of the week. She'll call it an experiment. An opportunity to learn a whole new side of the man she's been friends with for years and has very tentatively nursed a troublesome fondness for. She hasn't had a roommate in years, either. Company to come home to. Better than a stranger, surely. Better than a hotel room alone. Humming as she rings the doorbell and Orion answers, waving her in, she's looking forward to whatever sort of ridiculous outcome this move will bring.

They argued thrice within the first week. About furniture, of all things. About dinner---They both wanted to cook and they were both unused to sharing the kitchen. About…..and she cringes about this, about not hanging out your delicates to dry in the washroom. She'd honestly meant to clear them out of the way before he'd risen for the shower but she'd slept in, surely it wouldn't be a problem. 

And it hadn't been. 

Orion had gingerly hung them down, folded them up neat and deposited them on the bed beside her and had leaned in and asked, "if you'd like me to handle those from now on, just say so,"

She would have clobbered him had she not been embarrassed and irritated that he had waltzed into her bedroom unannounced. She refused to make a greater spectacle of herself then however by being overly concerned of her modesty. "Hands off the lace Angel and I won't strangle you with it. I'll keep it out of the way from now on,"

"Lace?" he'd pointedly glanced at the pile he'd folded. "No, these are silk, do you have lace, too?" he'd asked devilishly, wickedly, a sort of smarmy teasing that made her want to scream if not yank his hair out. "I really don't mind," he'd continued. "Perks up my mornings, if you know what I mean,"

The following day he'd left his boxers out to dry, with a note. "Now, we're even." 

In spite of herself, she'd laughed. 

Downstairs at the stove, making breakfast before she could arrive downstairs and begin protesting, Orion flipped the pancakes and smiled to himself, listening to the ringing musicality of her laugh floating down the stairs. 

I could get used to this, the thought occurs to him then. He's not really sure what he's doing, honestly. His friendship with Chantal has always been just that, trust and closeness and always there. For him. He realizes now as much as Chantal knows about him and has often proved his first choice in emergency and for advice, that he knows little about her. Just the basics. Just that they can really push each others buttons if they set their mind to quarrel. Just that they don't because they have an unspoken understanding that they don't want to hurt each other. They know they can. Could send the other screaming and tearing from the room because Chantal knows things about him and Orion, to put it plainly, he can be reckless and vindictive---but they don't. They stop themselves before that. They leave rooms. They might slam doors. They take deep breaths and cool off. 

Because you can't take back pain. Once it's there you'll have to move through it, and that can be a long process. A daunting thing. They don't wish that on the other. He finds himself wondering, what is there to know, about Chantal? 

Idle thoughts of her head in his lap and talking about nothing, everything? books? music? it wouldn't matter the topic. The image lodged itself in his brain and he can't shake it out. Can't erase her voice, softly caressing vowels in french and the guttural consonants of german, the quick brilliance of italian lyrics leaving her lips and filling the room, the house, ringing, ringing, ringing. Her easy laugh. She used to tease and snicker at him, not with. Now she laughs, her full bodied, tears run out of her eyes laugh. She's playful. 

She's this completely new woman Orion had never truly known was his friend. He watches her when she pores over music for hours the deep concentration as she hunches down before her screen, fingers stroking keys and music filling the page. Then her eyes close as she listens, re listens. Tosses her head back---and then would seem the appropriate time to come in with a mug of tea. Or hot chocolate. He doesn't mean to but he'll start talking and she won't get back around to finishing her score for the night. She scolds him and bids him goodnight, and just one night, before she takes the stairs he pecks her cheek. "Night," he says, like it's nothing. 

"Night Orion," to her credit, Chantal doesn't flinch. Nothing about her reaction indicates whether it had been welcome or not. She waves and goes up, closes her door changes for bed and pauses only once to touch her cheek, laughs to herself before she goes to bed. 

The following morning she rolls her eyes at the sight of Orion commandeering the kitchen, again. He's got all of his apparatus spread out across all of the counters. Pans, whisk, plates, eggs, bacon, bread, peppers because he's going to be making omelettes. The kettle is whistling. She sighs as she picks it up, grabs two mugs. "What'll you have?" she calls. 

He startles while he's chopping the peppers and a swift curse tells Chantal he must have cut himself. "Orion?" she puts down the mugs and takes the knife from him, grabbing his hand and turning on the faucet with her free one. "I'm sorry. Sorry I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that," she tuts to her self as she holds his hand under the water, turning it this way and that in her scrutiny. Orion watches her in her singleminded focus on his injury. The way she has become absorbed in it. Her repeated apologies and how she shuts the water off, pats it dry, so gently, practically pushes him into a chair before leaving the room and returning with the first aid kit and wrapping the palm of his hand. She keeps shaking her head. "You should have been using a cutting board anyway,"

"You never use a cutting board."

"I'm not the one bleeding right now am I?" she continues, never meeting his eyes until she's done and she steps back away from him. "I'll finish up," she announces, turning her back swiftly, picking up the knife, and makes a pointed effort to grab the cutting board, glancing over her shoulder at him once as she starts chopping. "Do you always make such hearty breakfasts?" she asks, back still turned. "I've scarcely ever had the time,"

"I'm a decent cook." he replies. "I just seldom have anyone to bother preparing for. It seems a lot of effort just for myself. Alone I'd probably skip the bacon and toast. But it's different sharing a house. Having someone to cook for. I enjoy it. And you work too hard and too late. I know if I gave you half a chance you'd lock yourself up with that piano first thing with only tea and an apple for half the day----"

"Wait," Chantal pauses, turning to face him now, a slow smile creeping across her face. "Are you trying to take care of me? is that what you're saying?"

Orion opens and closes his mouth, fishing for words. "Yes. You're my friend, Tally. I care about your well being." 

"Hmmm," she sets the knife down, considering, before sauntering towards him and pecking him on the cheek. "Well, thank you, Orion, for caring. Are you opposed to mushrooms?" she calls as she pulls back and begins rummaging in the fridge. She doesn't see the way Orion's mouth gives the tiniest imperceptible quirk. 

October 2015

It's time Chantal went home to visit with her family for thanksgiving. 

And Orion sees her to the airport. She's staying two weeks. This will be the longest time that one of them have been out of the house since they moved in together. Orion has scarce need to leave lately, producing Abraham and many of his other projects easily mixed and mastered in the studio he's set up in the manor. Chantal has had more frequent need to go, but never more than a night or two. A week, when 'Love Let's Go' opened. But this will be new for them. It's strange because something has certainly changed between them. 

A habit of preparing meals together. A dedication to not starting the cooking until the other was there to help. There had been too many nights when one of them would turn in the middle of the night to find the hall way light on and discover the other either at the piano, trying desperately to play quietly, or in the studio adjusting levels and tweaking effects. 

If it's Chantal at the piano, Orion pads softly in, joins her on the bench, listening. Let's her finish the phrase before wrapping an arm around her, giving her shoulder a squeeze and whispering. "Five more minutes and you go back to sleep, Tally" twirling a curl around his finger. 

If it's Orion in the studio, Chantal stealthily lets herself into the booth, takes up a pair of headphones and listens. Let's the track finish before she reaches over to remove the headphones from his head, gripping his hand and pulling him to his feet. "Go back to bed, Angel,"

Once, just once, one of them had said. "Why don't you join me?" don't ask them which one because it had been one of those rare occasions when they had both been up creating and trying unsuccessfully to convince the other to get some rest. They were brain dead tired and the late hour made them bold. And the other, equally sleep deprived and feeling a little daring had said. "Your bed or mine?"

They'd chosen Chantal's room. She threw back the blankets and Orion got in beside her, pulled the comforter around them and she turned away from him. "Goodnight, Orion," and then, "I don't mind….if you…." before she could finish her drowsy sentence his arm had slung over her and she felt him pull her in closer, his breath against the back of her neck. 

"Night, Tally," he yawned, sleepily, drowsily, wrapping his arms around her, lips accidentally, surely, brushing against her neck. 

Waking in the morning had been less awkward than that one time back in the summer. They at least remembered falling asleep. They'd stayed that way for a considerable amount of time, eyes wide open, absorbing the sensation of waking in the others arms. Feeling the other breathe in tune with them. "Sleep well?" he'd asked at last. 

"Yeah. You?"

Chantal knows she didn't imagine his arms pressing closer around her. "Best sleep I've had in years." 

The pattern had persisted. And other things had changed. Making plans to see one another throughout the day if either of them had to step out. Seeing a movie or opting to go out for dinner. Still Orion did her hair when he got the chance. Still they slumbered in each others bed. 

Still, they hadn't defined themselves. Even though, it is obvious to them both that their behaviour was bordering dangerously beyond friendly. 

It's there at the terminal, as she gathers her bags prepared to head for the gate that Orion tugs her back. "Orion I'm going to miss my flight," she says but lets him reel her in closer before he reaches around her neck and snaps something in place. When she looks down she sees the glinting silver and gold angel wing pendant around her neck and she looks up at him, meeting his amber eyes. "Why Angel," she coos, gently mocking, "is this your way of watching over me?" 

He reaches up unexpectedly, sweeping his thumb across her cheek, in utter silence. 

It makes Chantal anxious, the idea of Orion not having words. Quick witted sharp tongued, sly fox Angel, quiet? It's disquieting how many subtle things about Orion can change and alter the way she views him. How significant all of the small moments are. The fact that Orion doesn't have a verbal parry now means there's something he won't voice, perhaps even afraid to say. Relying heavily on the age old adage that his actions will speak louder. There is a careful sort of reverence in his gaze that makes the hairs on her neck prickle as he reaches for her free hand in his. They stand there, herself transfixed by his tentative stroking of her hand and face before she blinks a couple of times and swallows. Though time stands still at this juncture for them, the reality is she doesn't want to miss that plane. 

"I'm coming back," she says at last, teasing him and then adding, boldly, because it's possible that he needs encouragement. 

There's always someone who has to be the brave one, the foolish one, the individual willing to take the small risk and lick their wounds in private later if it goes poorly. It'll be a long flight for her to contemplate if what she says next is a grave error. Hours to berate herself to weariness. Still. She meets his gaze, holding it, licks her lips. "I'm coming back to you, Angel" 

Encouragement indeed.

Chantal had staggered with the impact of Orion's mouth crashing into hers, arms springing around her, locking her in tight and keeping her upright. There's a storm in her ears and thundering in her heart. She's not sure what she expected he would do but somehow this outcome had been beyond her speculation. His lips are so…sweet, against hers. Placing multiple kisses chasing after the other, his hand bunching in the back of her jacket. Like he thinks at any moment she's going to evaporate. Other people in the airport pause a moment to openly gawk at their display. When her eyes finally open she sees a few young girls swooning not far away. There are people video taping.

Leave it to Angel to make their first kiss a viral phenomenon. "Orion," she breathes. Amber eyes finally blink at her, forehead resting against hers. "Got that out of your system?" she cajoles and he gives her his signature smirk. 

"Call me when you land,"

"We're gonna have a talk when I get back. Don't think we won't" she scolds. 

Orion doesn't hesitate to dart in for another quick peck, his fingers dance across her skin where the pendant rests. "Yes, I…..carry me with you" he says simply, answering her earlier question. "Now go before you have to reschedule," 

Back on Canadian soil Chantal walks into the waiting, eager, warm, familiar arms of her mother and father. "There she is," her father bellows. 

"Oh I've missed you honey. Missed you missed you," her mother whispers again and again. Chantal is startled that there are tears in her eyes. She's been away from home much too long. 

"I've missed you too, mom," she gurgles, nuzzling her mothers neck. She squeezes until her mother begs for relief. Laughing, they get in the car and head back to the house. Not the house she saw last. The dogs bowl her over as she comes through the door. Energetic little things barely above her knee. She loves them dearly. Poodle and yorkie. "Hey guys," she coos, "Hey, hey stop!" she laughs as they leap over her lap, slapping their little tongues in her face. "stop!" she continues, conceding defeat as she hits the floor and they wag forward happily, barking and their faces full of so much excitement and joy. "Oh yes, I've missed you too, hey dad, call them off!" she yelps when the yorkie, the boy, chomps down on a lock of her hair. He's always liked her hair. 

Like Orion? her mind chimes. Shoot. She bolts upright. 

"I just have to make a call!" she hollers, dashing up the stairs, turning a sharp left into the spare bedroom. It's not hers, not after so many years, this room is a pit stop now. She feels the smallest twinge of sadness for that memory before she takes out her cell phone to dial. 

Unlike Chantal, Orion doesn't make her count the rings. 

"Tally?"

"I'm here. Just got in the door," at that moment, the door thumps open with the wagging tails of the dogs who have followed her upstairs, still yipping happily at her. 

"What's that?"

"The dogs," she explains. "Sssh," she scolds gently before they begin standing on her legs. "Their crosses, bichon poodle and a shorkie, boy and girl. They're happy I'm home," 

For Orion's part, he'd never even considered that Chantal liked animals. How had that not come up? 

"You told me to call you so, hi. I'm safe. I've gotta unpack though and my parents want to go out for dinner---"

"Chantal!" her mother's voice calls up the steps. Chantal rolls her eyes. It's like being a teen again. "Where do you want to go tonight? your father says pick the place!"

"Who's that?" 

"My mother," Chantal chuckles. "I've gotta go, Angel,"

"Wait, Tally,"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to meet them," he says in rush. He's struck once more after overhearing things in the distance that there is still so much more to know about Chantal. More than just the woman he knows but the one she was, who made her who she is. The other angles. The influences. He wants to meet these dogs---though he's never had good luck with them---and see if they would take to him. Wants to know what her favourite restaurant is to visit at home with her loved ones. See deer grazing in the cemeteries and bunnies in the backyard. All of the things she'd told him about at night while he combed her hair or reclining in the couches after a too hearty meal. 

Chantal holds the phone away from her ear and blinks. "Excuse me?"

"I'd like to meet them Chantal."

"We still have a rather important conversation to finish before we start crossing borders. Literally," 

Before I start letting you climb over all of the walls and throwing open the doors and gates that have always been open, mind you, but the way you do things I'm afraid you'll tear off the hinges. 

And you won't bother to put them back. 

Chastised, he begins to recant. "I mean. Look, I know---about the airport, I shouldn't have sprung that on you but….I…..it wasn't spur of the moment. I've been wanting to do that since…."

"Chantal!" 

Torn, Chantal looks between the phone in her hand, which carries in it Orion's voice, and all of the fragile things he dares now to utter---though should she reprimand him for doing it over the phone she doesn't know----and the door of her room, mother and father hollering downstairs for her. 

"Tally?"

"Look, Orion, I…..when we get back from dinner. I'll call you, okay?"

"Chantal," he says, more insistently, sensing he's about to be put aside and irritated by it. Orion is rather accustomed to getting his way. Having control of the game. Nothing about this new territory that he has blindly waded into--since the day he asked her to move in with him----has been controlled. 

"I'll call you back, later," she snaps. Because Orion Angel is not going to think that one kiss suddenly makes him top priority. 

At dinner her mother politely asks, nonchalantly, after the main course, waiting for desert and she dabs her mouth, "Was that Orion, Angel?"

"Pardon?"

"On the phone today?"

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"That's your producer friend right, had that contest you worked on in the summer?" her father adds helpfully, as if SHE needs reminding. 

"Yes," she drinks steadily from her glass of water. 

"How is he?" 

"He's, fine." Chantals answers, trying to keep the tone light. She hasn't exactly mentioned to her parents that she's living with the man in what started out as purely platonic situation. That it was now more than that. 

"That's good. Just wondered since you called him first thing," her mother probes, a wheedling note in her voice. Oh, she's fishing, Chantal almost smirks to herself. Her mother has a completely transparent way of making inquiries in her personal life, although she's self convinced that she's subtle. 

"He asked me to," she concedes at last. 

"Oh?"

Another drink and she begins looking around for the waiter. Her father's face is scrunched up in amusement at her expense. This is exactly like when she would visit home during university and her mother would drill her about the male classmates that she might have been interested in, yes, but never came to anything. 

Amazingly, Chantal has gone through most of her life almost completely unnoticed. She doesn't have a solid relationship to her name. Dates, yes. Friends who she waited for to become more, in an abstract way, because she was still very school focused. But an on going, committed, met the family, share the holidays partner? No. Not at all. 

No wonder she'd been uneasy about Orion's sudden, irrational request to meet her parents. It's completely uncharted territory. 

"Wanted to make sure I got in safe," 

"That's sweet of him. Is that necklace mine?" she squints. Chantal guffaws. This is a joke her mother has been playing with her for years. They've always had a close bond and a habit of borrowing each other's accessories. More permanently sometimes than others. And her mother would appraise the new earrings she was wearing and ask, "Are those mine?"

"No!" Chantal used to laugh. "I bought these!" or "You gave these to me!" 

Now, Chantal says, betraying herself at last. "No, It's from Orion,"

"He gave it to you?" her mother leans over the table, "Is that gold? It's very pretty. Are those angel wings? Your guardian angel?" 

Chantal hasn't been embarrassed in years. Not like this, hot under the collar, face flushed and mouth dry. No. no no. she wants to protest. This is not how she had intended for this conversation to go.

She'd never even considered it would ever be necessary. Her and Angel? a flight of fancy she had entertained no more vigorously than the crushes of past. Though she'd be lying if she didn't acknowledge still how very different her relationship with Orion is than any other. For one she's never lived with a man. Has never been this close to one, sleeping together, fully clothed, for all intents and purposes….she supposes she is involved with Angel, has been, if she's being honest, in a small way, since they met. 

It's just only some hours ago, that it became more, defined. 

"We live together" she says simply grateful that her pie has arrived. The silence is marked as the plates clatter on the table around them, a waiter politely asks.

"More water?"

"Yes," her father croaks. 

Shrinking inside, Chantal prepares for a barrage of judgements. Prying questions.

"Well it's about time," Mother says at last. "After all I didn't raise you to be a nun," 

When she got back from the holidays the house was full of music. A new tune Orion was working on. "Angel?" she hollers. "Angel?" as she drops her bags and follows the music to the open studio door where Orion is listening studiously in the corner, brow furrowed. "Ang--hey," she calls as she enters. "I'm back," Orion's gaze ticks her way. He blinks twice.

"Tally?" he checks his watch. 

"I got in early," she explains, sauntering towards him. "I like the track, that a remix of something?"

"It is," he concedes, rising to meet her in the middle of the room. 

"You get up to a lot in two weeks." 

They pause in the middle of the room. Two weeks ago he had sprung a lip lock on her in the airport, given her a necklace, looked at her with tenderness. He wonders if two weeks away was enough time for Chantal to decide getting involved with him is a bad idea. 

Chantal wonders why she didn't try harder to convince herself that this would be a disastrous idea. 

Yet this might be the one time in history that two wrongs might make a right. 

"I missed you," he says first, reaching for her, a hand to her waist, the other her neck and then he slows down right then. Inhales deeply.

"I missed you, too," she admits in a whisper resting her forehead against his, leaning in just a bit. "I'm open, have always been, Orion. And I know, knowing you, there's a damn good chance you're gonna hurt me."

"Tally,"

"Don't try to promise you won't," she stops him. "We can't promise things like that so early. This is new. This….let's just do this. Do us. Promise me things when you're sure. When I'm sure I can accept it. I've had feelings for you for a while. If I'm gonna be honest." She licks her lips, locking eyes with him, "Well?" his lips connect with hers. He kisses her softly, sweetly. More gentle than she ever thought the man was capable of, she twines her hands around his neck, kissing him back. He presses her so close they lose balance and stagger, startling laughter out of her before his mouth is on hers again, smiling briefly against her lips, moving across her cheek down her neck she can't stop giggling. "Orion, I'm, stop I'm---" she breaks off as fingers wriggle in her sides and she loses control. "Orion!" she shrieks, toppling to the floor at last, scrambling away from him and his unrelenting fingers. 

"Who'd have ever thought that composed successful lady like Chantal Adams was so ticklish?" he teases, dragging himself closer to her and hauling her into a seated position in his lap, still searching and hunting for more ticklish spots. 

"Orion!" Chantal has never felt so undignified as she does at the moment, rolling on the floor with Orion over her, a laugh that keeps betraying her, utterly cornered and Chantal is breathless when he finally stops, chest heaving, and her wrists pinned on either side of her head to the floor. So, she thinks. For all of the times that she has been accountable to herself alone. Sojourned on crafting her dream, going where the muse took her, to the competitions and showcases and seminars. To the rehearsals, to the orchestras, the choirs, to the plays and musicals and to her piano alone, to that one conference in Toronto-----

********************  
March 2010

"Orion Angel," He'd noticed her across the room, the only head of gravity defying bouncing curls in the room among all of the sleek, straight, lose waves of blondes brunettes and the occasional ginger. Of the short haired spiky dos of the men. He'd waded through, thinking as he drew near, that she had a nice look, could market really well if she was a decent singer. The panel hasn't begun yet. She appraises him first before shaking his hand. One brow raised before she answers in an unexpectedly calm and measured voice. 

"Chantal Adams," what could be chit chat is cut short by the host announcing that they are about to begin. Two of her work are examined among the others. One of his. Afterwards there is too much schmoozing to be done. They only have time for a summary of their musical backgrounds and for Orion to offer his card. Her mouth quirks as she accepts it, amused by him, before she tucks it in her purse. She walks away from him not looking over her shoulder once, only taking the card out again when she's in the car. Reads the name over, replays his words

"If you ever wanna try your hand in something more mainstream," he'd said and she laughs to herself. The very idea that he thinks he has something to offer her. Another pet project? Hah. And she drives off, the card shifting to the pit of her bag, forgotten until she finds herself in his neck of the woods, and she's rummaging around for her phone. Her fingers enclose around the card stock, marred by ink and an uncapped lipstick, on a lark, she had dialled.

She'd never considered it before, but Chantal had been circling back to Orion ever since.

****************  
October 2015

\--------- I come back to you, I always have, always do she concludes as she gazes up into his eyes. And you come to me. We circle each other, we orbit. How ridiculous is this, and she has to suppress another laugh from escaping, smiles at him instead before he kisses her again. 

"Tally?" he murmurs. Her half lidded eyes look up at him. "I just want you to know….I…..I've been over Abbie, for a while," he stresses. "Before you moved in. I just want you to understand that. You're not a rebound. I started falling for you……might have even been the night you got back in town,"

"When you did my hair for the first time?"

"Maybe"

"When we fell asleep in the hotel?"

"Could have been then, too,"

"When----"

"When I saw you the next morning with your hair up. When I caught you singing on that stage in languages I don't know."

"You've been falling for a long time, Angel," she leans up on her elbows and Orion backs up giving her space, switching to stretch himself beside her. 

"You've always been hiding from me. Never let me see how….how much of you there is. But you couldn't hide that heart of yours when Abraham needed a friend. That light in you working with Macey. You've….Tally you've always been what I was looking for but you never let me know. Passionate, an incredible capacity to care. A heart that loves to give. To pour itself out. All I've ever wanted was to have that reckless abandon---"

"Then you'd better hold on," Chantal cuts in, surprising him with her boldness, but this isn't new, if she's being honest. This is who she is when she lets herself. He'd better get used to discovering her many facets. 

He draws closer once more. "How tight?"

Grabbing his collar Chantal pulls him close enough that their noses touch. "Like your life depends on it," 

Who's counting how many kisses they trade here? who's keeping track of how many sighs and chuckles, and shared breaths and gentle caressing fingers dancing across shoulders and necks and cradling the others jaw? 

Chantal takes Orion Angel soaring through the sky on her kisses alone. And he hangs on, hangs on because surely if he lets go he'll go hurtling back towards the earth and shatter his bones. 

And it's too early to say. Too soon to utter. 

Yet in this moment Orion knows, though his name is Angel, Chantal is the one with wings. 

And Chantal knows that Orion Angel is her home base. Has been, for years.


	65. The First Time III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peak into how some of the other's lives progressed, some backstory, the new people they meet. 
> 
> I'm finally in a good place to wrap this up,(i've written the last chapter) but I like to try my best to finish up characters story lines if I can. So I had a little set up to do here before I take a leap into the future. 
> 
> Plenty of familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for hanging in there with me! I hope you'll stay tuned for the last chapter because I'm so bloody excited for it. 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts because I live for them! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

December 2015: Calvin Riggs

"Abbie Mills," he grins when he hears the door behind him. It's the last day of the Phoenix exhibit. He's taking in the last moments of this deeply personal work that touched so many others. And there she is, subject of his incredible journey. 

"Hey Calvin," Abbie smiles. 

"You gonna stand all the way over there or do I get a hug?"

Abbie laughs as she approaches his open and waiting arms. 

"Look at you," he grins as he pulls away. "The same and yet not at all," he nods to Abraham who has hung back to let these two have a moment catching up. "Hey man, hope you're taking care of her?"

"I've only been back a few days," Abbie supplies. "But so far I feel like gold,"

Abraham beams with too much pride, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Promised her I'd bring her down to see….well this," he sweeps his arm to encompass the room full of pictures blown up in varying sizes. Abbie only then fully takes the whole spectacle of herself in. She drifts from Abraham's grasp, wandering from one to another. This is me. She thinks. So many different sides of me. 

Now everyone knows. 

Now everyone sees.

Me.

She nods to herself. The men chat to each other, occasionally glancing in her direction as she makes her rounds of the space again.

"So are you selling these Riggs?"

"Hah. Never. Abbie Mills isn't for sale. But she's going on tour. You've gotten critical acclaim. They want to me to put this up in New York. If it's alright with you?"

"I've got nothing to hide anymore," Abbie chuckles. "Go ahead."

In the evening, after the last showing, Calvin begins to hang down the artwork. 

"How long were you in love with her?" a voice startles him and he almost drops the frame. 

The first time he sees her Calvin looks over his shoulder at a woman with dark brown tresses pulled into a loose chignon. She's got a dark pin prick on her chin, the tiniest beauty mark he almost wonders why it bothered putting itself in the picture. Chic glasses. Stilettos and plunging neckline dress. He has never seen her before in his life. "I mean," she nods toward one of the frames. "I assume you were in love with her to photograph so….in depth. You can only catch so many facets and angles when you know them, when they let themselves be known on that level,"

He flashes his disarming smile. "Never got that far. You missed her actually, she was in this afternoon with the new mister,"

"Moved on already?"

"More like moved on at last," he quips moving to the next piece. 

"Interesting point of view," she drawls, surveying the space. "I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"Nah, my show shuts up tonight."

"Oh I know that," the woman purrs, eyes flashing. "Mine, opens tomorrow. You'll be there," she insists with charismatic authority. "Pandora"

Calvin folds his arms, amused. "of myth and legend huh" 

She smiles coyly at him. "The difference being she was exactly that and I am not. I had fanciful parents." she adds by way of explanation. "Tomorrow night" she reminds him. Calvin watches her graceful commanding stride as she departs 

July 2015

"Brooks,"

"Morales" 

The two men are at a stalemate outside of the department doors. They haven't spoken since the night before the wedding. Exactly two weeks ago. Sleepy Hollow is a weird place of fragmented shards. Abbie's departure left a void of sorts. Who knew she had become such an anchor in so many lives? Without her, many find themselves afloat. Luke included. It's possibly a delayed reaction to his engagement ending, but Luke himself is feeling nauseated with constant assaults of nostalgia wherever he goes. He's just informed Frank that he's going to be taking a leave of absence. Clear his head. 

Frank had sighed as he glanced at the paper work, shuffling and signing. "Alright," he meets his gaze. "You did have time booked for your honeymoon anyway, you may as well take it. It's a little strange being around here for you isn't it"

Luke had given a self deprecating smile. "Amazing how many memories a place can accumulate." 

"Well, go, take lots of pictures." 

"Thank you sir," Luke turns to go.

Frank rises to his feet then. "Hey Morales?"

"Sir?"

"You did the right thing. And it'll get easier. You take more time if you need it, alright?"

"Thank you sir," He was leaving, taking a great big relieved breath when he'd collided with his old friend. They stand opposite awkwardly. Him in civilian clothes, Andy in uniform. 

Andy doesn't know what to say. He'd heard about the wedding being called off some days later, that Abbie had fled town. There had been whispers. She left him, some said. Just never bothered to show up at the altar. Ransacked the house, hawked the ring and upgraded to first class to travel alone. Someone had gone far enough to say she'd run off WITH someone.

Others, however. Other's said they'd seen Abbie striding purposefully toward the church that morning in her regular clothes, and that she left it shortly after a surprisingly chipper Luke had, declaring perhaps too enthusiastically the wedding was off. Had said they'd seen Abbie flee home, true, and just as quickly leave it, alone, in a taxi, to a destination unknown. 

Said that the cab driver that took her had two beers at a bar and began rattling on about the strange day he had. How the same woman he'd picked up nearly a month ago had been fleeing a confrontation with a former lover and today it seemed she had been doing the same thing. 

But Andy hadn't spoken to Luke. And Luke hadn't spoken to Andy. They regard each other here, considering if their years of friendship can be salvaged or if hurtful words in heated moments have been too thorough in severing bonds. 

If a rejected heart and neglected one, can find a rapport. 

"I heard---" Andy starts and Luke gives a quick nod.

"Yeah well everyone's heard by now, right?" he flashes a smile that tries and fails to reach his eyes. Andy clamps his mouth shut, chews his lip. 

"Listen, Luke, about that night---"

"You were right," 

"What?"

Luke grits his teeth and turns his gaze skyward. "You were right, Brooks. Abbie….the Abbie that came to the church that morning, yeah, no, she didn't love me. So I let her go." he takes a deep breath, rolling back his shoulders. "I guess I should thank you for hitting me over the head with it the night before. I'd been having a weird feeling, but you….hah, you said it. I hated you for it." He admits, shooting Andy a glare. "Still do, if I'm being frank. It was none of your business. And it's not now." Anger, sudden, clear, and pointed falls upon him then, and Andy's going to bare it, wrong place wrong time. "You know, it doesn't matter, whether you were interested in her first, or if I was, or if I knew you liked her and I didn't care because I knew you didn't have the guts to pursue Abbie. Neither of us were ever going to win, Brooks. You can't win a woman like Abbie…..you have to receive her….she has to give herself. Abbie had no intention of giving either of us the person she is inside. So there it is, we never stood a chance. Never" his voice cracks. 

Regardless of the fact that Luke had felt relief, and even a joy that he had at managed to do something pure, out of love, for Abigail Mills, the fact still remained, that in order for him to have loved her completely, he'd had to lose her. 

That loss itself, the rejigging of his life to once more accommodate bachelor hood, the eradication of futures imagined, that is still something he contends with daily. He has to stop imagining the unknown and cease looking over the past with a microscopic lens trying to find the one place in which he could have salvaged everything. It doesn't come. Andy regards his friend with his eyes narrowed in concern. 

"I'm sorry Luke."

Luke grits his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking. 

"I am," he persists and that forces Luke to meet his eyes. "Who can withstand the charm of Grace Abigail Mills!" he exclaims helplessly. "We never had a chance with her but we didn't have a choice but to fall for her." Sighing heavily himself Andy squints into the sky. "I'm sorry I betrayed your trust in the process." his eyes shift back to meet his old friends. They stand there a moment, assessing before Luke huffs and makes a motion as if clearing the air. 

"I'm going on vacation….don't let just anyone take over my desk while I'm gone, Brooks," he bites out harshly, with the tiniest inkling of a smirk tugging his mouth. Andy's face twitches in response and he nods dutifully. 

"Enjoy your time off, Morales," he gives him a nod and pushes open the doors, disappearing inside. Luke straightens his collar and prepares for his own globe trotting adventure. 

August 2015

The first time she saw him, Sabine had liked the looks of him instantly when he strolled through her market. Strong jaw, purposeful stride. Less devil may care than most men she snagged in the streets. Less thrill seeking. More like searching. More like he wasn't sure what he wanted to find---maybe he even wanted to be FOUND. 

"Handsome traveller come and spend your time with me" she'd called to him and Luke checked over his shoulder. She liked him all the more for it. "Yes you, with the brooding chiseled face admire these silks and tell me your price,"

"I'm not shopping," Luke had replied hastily, quickly swiping sweat from his brow, face apologetic. 

"You are," she'd asserted, tossing her thick tresses over her shoulder. Luke had swallowed, daringly retorted.

"What' you're selling, I'm not buying,"

Sabine had just licked her lips, prepared to spar when a voice rang from the stall across the way. "What trouble Sabine?" It was Benny. 

Not long after the blond traveller, Hawley--he'd been named but she'd called him Magpie because of how his eyes sparkled when he saw new things to trade and sell----Not long after her Magpie had departed Arman, who used to run the rug shop, had also packed up and left. 

Claiming he had dreams of opening a club. Some place with art, literature and artefacts. She had laughed at him. "High culture and dance floors and booze! You dream too highly Arman!" 

He'd grinned slowly at her. "I have been saving for this dream for years. I have been collecting wherever I go, I will take it all with me and there will be no place like it, an oasis, a place for genius to flourish and inspiration to be found."

"And what will you bring to this palace of intrigue and mystery? your exceptional knowledge of carpeting?" 

"Laugh as long as you like Sabine, as long as you like." he'd chided playfully. And she had, she'd laughed for days on end, every time she saw him she couldn't help but snicker at him, and he would just shake his head at her teasing until one day it was not Arman who came to open the shop. 

Instead a too brawny hard faced man named Benny who had persistently, unerringly, been trying to win her favour for the last ten years that had passed since Arman had left. Never mind that he knew Sabine took men she'd met the same day if it suited her. She had been adhering to her own rules since her youth, a wayward daughter that her parents had never bothered to reign in. 

But Benny is strong enough to fight ten men. And known to be of a quick temper. She won't deny that he has been helpful to her if she was cornered leaving the market late, or if quick sly hands tried to steal away with her wares. Yet she had no interest in him whatsoever. She knows Benny's sort. Wedded by dawn if he could and her churning out babies until she couldn't bare it anymore. He'd want boys to fish and sport with and girls to pamper and marry off. All the politicking she has no taste for. 

"No trouble Benny," she calls back with false cheer. 

"He isn't speaking kindly to you," 

"He is speaking to me as kindly as I like," she laughs, her eyes narrowed in a way she hopes makes her point clear. Luke takes in the man now lumbering out into the open and frowns. He's supposed to be relaxing on vacation not trying to prevent an altercation. 

"I'm sorry if I offended you," Luke starts but Sabine shakes her head sharply. 

"Come and look at the silks stranger, come, they are so pretty!" and her hand snatches at his wrist and hauls him toward her table so quickly he staggers. Benny pauses, watching them, before shuffling back to his booth. "You'd do well to stay clear of Benny," she cautions once they're inside. "He fancies me and he likes to try to scare off men who visit my shop."

"I wasn't trying to visit," Luke mutters, hand absently trailing on some cloth. Sabine watches him and smirks. 

"I saved you a tussle with him, he likes to bully. You're too skinny. Benny could pick his teeth with you. Come, I haven't had my lunch yet."

"Look, miss---"

"Sabine"

"Sabine….I was just strolling through,"

"I found you." she says simply, eyes glittering as she offers him a piece of fruit.

Luke gapes at her. "You what?"

"You walk through a market though you are not shopping or looking for anything then it must be you want to be found," she chirped. "And now I have found you, and you know what they say," she'd grinned as Luke watched her warily and then took a bite of the fruit. "Finders keepers," 

Three days she had managed to eke him out no matter how he had strived to avoid the shop and consequently Benny whenever he saw him. He'd given up trying to rebuff her on the fifth when she happened by his hotel. 

"Tell me why I shouldn't report you," he'd started. "You're stalking me, and the way you're going, Benny's going to slit my throat in a back alley."

Sabine cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "Report the hotel managers daughter? I hardly think so," and Luke had cursed his luck, striking off to hail a cab. "Has Benny been threatening you?" she'd asked in a low voice once she had forced herself in the cab with him, uninvited. "He doesn't usually bother with men outside the market."

"He's got it in for me ever since you blew him off the other day." He grunted. "Why aren't you interested?"

Sabine had wrinkled her nose. "Men like Benny have dated ideals about gender roles. Women do this and not that. After so many years, knowing so many men, I did not think his kind still existed. But there he is, the oafish proof to the contrary," 

"So he wants you to settle down is that so wrong?"

"All men think it is their duty to settle a woman down. To reign her in. To "Catch" her. But all of you fail to see women are born reigned in! we are born in rules and boundaries. We must be pretty, we must be strong, we must be dainty, we must be independent. We should be caring. One of the boys. A nurturer. We must be liberated. We must be pious, I think at some point someone tried to tell me I had to be an alien too," she said with such disdain that Luke chuckled. "Ahh," Sabine noticed, recovering quickly. "Gloomy traveller laughs," 

"Luke Morales," he'd corrected her. 

"Luke," she nodded. "Where are we going?"

"We? I was going to a cafe,"

"Which one?"

"The one near---"

"No no no, they have horrible tea there, hey! take a left here!" 

"Wait a minute," she'd clapped a hand over his mouth before he could protest giving further directions to the driver and soon they pulled up outside her flat. "Sabine!" he started when she latched on to his arm. "Sabine you've gotta stop doing this"

"What you men don't understand is that women want to be free. They want a man who will run with them, not try to cage them. Come, no one makes a cup like me. Stop gawking at me like that in the street people will think I've kidnapped you." 

"You have kidnapped me" Luke stated dumbly. Here he was, an officer of the law in the united states, and being held hostage by a shopkeeper with a seeming knack for mischief. 

"Don't be silly Luke," she gestured for him to follow and when he didn't took his arm again and marched him upstairs. Plunked him down in her sofa and brewed the tea and came over with cakes and fruit. " Alright then. Now, tell me what woman you tried to tame before she broke away from you"

He opened his mouth to protest again before Sabine crammed a slice of bread in his mouth. He blinked at her, furious and dumbfounded. Luke had never felt so outside of himself. So much less, composed and sure than he did at that moment. 

"I saw it in your eyes when you mentioned settling down." she sipped from her cup, deep almond eyes carefully regarding him. "Tell Sabine how to help her help you. Talk to me," she implored him, stretching out a hand, palm up. Luke peered down at it, removed the food in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, staring down at her in bewilderment. Who did this woman think she was? a guru?

"Why do you think I like travellers so much?" 

He kept watching her warily. 

"Because I have no one to tell their secrets, and they have no one to tell mine."

November 2015

Frank opened the letter that included Abbie's formal resignation three weeks ago. She'd made up her mind before she'd booked her flight home, before Crane had even come to visit, that she wouldn't be returning to the force. There were newer paths to tread. 

Morales had been back since mid August, in a better humour than he had ever imagined possible. Irving was just glad that he hadn't had to look for another replacement. 

Now he looks up as his new officer strides into the room. 

"Captain Irving," he greets her. 

She's got a purposeful stride, dark hair, freckles dancing across her face. She has a strong firm handshake. She reminds him, very strongly, of a certain former Lieutenant. 

February 2016

Andy looks up at the box of chocolates that has appeared on his desk. He blinks twice, checks the date on his phone. 

February 14th. 

"A woman, outside, she asked me to give these to you. She said to call it a peace offering. For all the ones she missed." He tentatively reaches for the tiny card attached the box. From Abbie, it reads, with love. He finally glances up at the woman standing over him. 

She's got wavy brown hair, an open face and kind eyes, if not for a glint of determination in them. Her expression is puzzled before she smiles weakly. 

"I'm…..thanks, thank you. I don't know your name, I apologize, but, why'd she give them to you?"

She shrugs. "Said she's in a hurry for some place to be. I ran into her at the chocolatiers, I was picking up something for a friend of mine on campus. He's got a sweet tooth to rival a cocaine addiction" she jokes. "Small talk you know and I mentioned I've got some business in the area and, well, here I am." She extends her hand to shake. "I'm Zoe. Zoe Corinth."

"Officer Andy Brooks"

The first time he sees Zoe is also the first time that Andy's ever received chocolates on Valentines Day from Abigail Mills. 

December 2015

It's new years eve. 

They're at The Archives. As a special treat for them all Abraham had lead them, staggering and treacherously tipsy except for careful Jenny Mills down the steps. The host had raised a brow at the gaggle of them. 

"You've grown rather popular Abraham, Lieutenant Mills" he greets

"Just Abbie" she corrects with a smile. 

Behind them, Jenny stifles a gasp and Nick quickly grabs at her, concern flitting across his face. "Jenny?" 

"Look," she hisses quietly as Crane, Abbie and Abraham sidle through the door. Nick frowns and then meets his eyes with the man at the door. He knows that weighted gaze. They both do. "No way in hell," she continues, quietly shocked and just then the man regards them. Recognition flashes in his gaze briefly before he sweeps his hand inwards, gesturing for them to follow behind their party. Cautiously Jenny eases by, Nick's careful hand on her shoulder. 

"I think you'll recognize some of the tapestries," the host intones with a knowing smirk. 

The pair startle into laughter. "It really is you, after all this time---Who'd have ever thought that---"

"Ssh," he chides. "No one knows my name here, not even the staff. It's part of the mystery,"

"You never struck me as the cloak and dagger type,"

"Exactly how long would you like to reminisce while the festivities move on without you and Sir Nicholas Hawley?"

Nick sputters.

"I couldn't keep your name out of Sabine's mouth for a week after you left. I scarcely had the heart to tell her I was leaving too. Fate finds us all together once more however, on the eve of a new year. I'd like to hear your review when you leave. Sabine had laughed at me. Had you any idea a woman's teasing could be so cruel?" he asked, voice jovial as it rumbled around them. 

"So what DO they call you then ? master of ceremonies?" Jenny taunted, settling easily back into her usual self. 

He gives a slow, easy smile. She remembers there was a time when that smile had made her flush in the blessed shade of a fabric stall. That same sly grin that had greeted her in the mornings until Nick had stumbled into her life. 

Summer 2005

The first time he saw Jenny Mills he didn't see her until she was right under his nose. Dark curious eyes, sweat on her brow, a calm easy, business like manner. He'd given her a job and later couldn't remember if she had asked for one. She was pleasant company, they disagreed on the way he priced things but otherwise a little spitfire to have around. Handy too, because it enabled him more time to sort out plans and finances if he could leave Jenny in charge. 

He, not unlike Nick, not unlike Jenny, had only been making a temporary stay in India. Albeit it had been a vastly extended one. He'd been there nearly five years. He'd been in South Africa before. Egypt a little while before that. Came to America for the reasons anyone else does---to make dreams come true. 

He'd wanted it to feel like descending into another world. As if you could visit multiple places at once simply setting foot through his doors. He'd had to sell a great deal of the items he'd collected to even begin construction but when he'd began encouraging donations from his patrons, he'd been overwhelmed by the generosity of the artists and academics who socialized within his hidden walls. As for the name change, he'd thought it was clever, back then, added to the atmosphere.

And after being in business so long it takes the mystique out of it to suddenly start going by his birth name. Besides it still, held its own sort of a charm. A little riddle if anyone was curious about his origins and how the place came to be. 

December 2015

Arman grins at this woman returned to him after all these years, round and glowing with the Magpie's child---Sabine had been kind enough to share this nickname with him too---he supposes he should thank her for unwittingly helping him plot and craft his dream. 

She supposes she should thank him for taking her on, putting her in the place that would catch the eye of Sir Nicholas Hawley, now her fiancee and soon to be father of her child. 

Craning his neck around the stairwell Arman checks to make sure there aren't more patrons being held up by this little reunion taking place outside the Archive doors before he leans in and answers her question in a conspiratorial whisper. 

"They call me The Hidden One"


	66. What The Future Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some flash forwards! Some jump backwards! 
> 
> intros, tying up ends. foreshadowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do linear time lines okay? 
> 
> The end is near! I'm honestly not kidding this time! lol Thanks to readers old and new! 
> 
> comments please! <3 <3 <3

May 2016

The noise Jenny is making terrifies her. Part of her wants to flee if not for the needling curiosity---if not for wonder at the thing she never had. She has watched Jenny morph over the months into this foreign bulbous creature. Strange, because Jenny has only ever been lithe for as long as she has known her, so to see this life, actively taking up residence, stretching and making room rearranging furniture perhaps too---guessing by the way Jenny had been griping about the babies' antics for the past few months. 

But it's time for the little one to shut up shop in her sister and meet the real world. Sooner than later before Jenny shatters all of the bones in her hand. 

"I can't do it Abbie, I can't, she's just gonna have to stay in there," she huffs, face strained and sweat slick. 

"Don't talk nonsense Jenny---what am I supposed to tell Hawley, that you refuse to birth his baby girl---"

"DON"T speak his name to me he DID this to me" Jenny roars as another wave hits and Abbie's knees buckle. Jenny had ordered Hawley out a moment ago when he had come in, just a twitch too excited and amped up for Jenny to bear, but Abbie is positive she can't survive another onslaught of this. Strong she is. Fortified concrete she is not. Jenny pauses to breathe and Abbie attempts to soothe her. 

"In, out, come on, you can do it Jen, easy, easy" her sister's grip slackens by a hair and Abbie slips free, just to flex her fingers at least, make sure they're still all intact. "I'm going to get Nick," she says, smoothing back her sisters hair. "I don't care what you say that is your man, and your baby making it's grand entrance and he should be here for it,"

"Yes, yes yes," Jenny nods hurriedly, all of the fight gone out of her, concentrated solely on the effort of delivering life. 

"Good girl, you can do this." She leans in to her sisters ear. "You're gonna be a great mom," 

Jenny smiles up at her weakly. "Thanks Abbie---Oh!"

"Right! Hawley!" she tears from the room and he's right there in the hallway, anxious and wild-eyed. "Go in there," she punches his arm jovially. "Just keep her calm, breathing, nice and slow." she coaches him and with taking a moment to sweep his hair back from his forehead and flashing her a grin, in goes rogue art dealer Sir Nicholas Hawley, father of first born of Jennifer Mills. 

"How is she?" Abraham asks as she settles down next to him, twining their fingers. There are bags beneath his eyes and hers. They just got in from a show night before. He hadn't been kidding, launching a music career had been exhausting, though exhilarating stuff. Her album, first in years, dropped two weeks ago. They've been on a media blitz. Abraham's on the smallest two week reprieve during his tour.

She's going back on the road with him. At least, as much of it as she can manage between her own appearances. The hope is find time to visit the house in England before Abbie's own tour kicks off come fall. Crane's going to be there over the summer finishing up his historical account. He's got an agent breathing down his neck, so he'll be there end of summer, they should be able to all see one another briefly before he comes back and they'll have the place to themselves. 

Seated across from them Chantal dozes off on Orion. Long twists, black and faded to grey at the bottom fall over her shoulder. She got braids some weeks back, much to Orion's consternation---there is little else he takes pride in than commandeering Chantal's hair care routine---but given how busy they've both been recently---she's been nominated for a Tony for Best Musical Score and she's got another project she's whittling away at hopes to get it on stage this summer. And Orion, Orion's getting himself geared up for a second season of 'Seven Sleepy Stars'. Orion clasps Chantal's hand loosely in his own, leaning forward just a little to kiss her forehead and nodding at Abbie and Abe.

"You two look like hell," he smiles. 

"You look no better," Abraham jibes and just then there's another shout and then a cry.

The cry of a baby. 

Abbie springs to her feet and Chantal's eyes flutter open. 

They wait a beat before a doctor comes out. "Healthy girl. seven pounds, four ounces. You can see them in a bit"

********************

Nick looks so at ease with a baby in his arm it's almost scary, Abbie thinks as she approaches, gently, carefully, taking the warm living bundle in her arms. She casts a glance at her sister. "She's beautiful Jenny. She looks just like you," her eyes water but her hands are too full to swipe at the threatening tears. 

Jenny smiles at her, motions for her to come closer, so she does, she goes over and takes the seat next to her with the baby in her arms. "I wanna name her after mama, if that's alright with you?"

Well nothings going to save Abbie from crying now. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know if you had dibs on it"

"No, No Jenny. Mama would be honoured."

"Lorelei," Jenny coos, face soft and tender. "Lori for short."

Days later, back at the house, Abbie and Abraham are visiting. Abbie is wild about her niece. She bares an armload of baby books for Lori's first library and little onuses that say things like "After party, my crib, 2am" Jenny laughs and deposits them all in the pile of gifts accumulating on the coffee table. Arman(The Hidden One) as he signed the card, had gifted her daughter fairytales plucked from his own shelves in the Archives. Strange tomes, stories she's never heard of, but carrying with them history of patrons who have passed through and cultures unknown. And a rattle, too. One he'd had as a child. They'd named Irving and Crane as God fathers. Arman has since taken post as adoptive uncle. 

Abraham takes in the image of Abbie with the baby, the protective cherishing way she holds her. 

So small and perfect and caramel is she, this fresh little bundle of life. How sweet and soft, with her dark eyes and soft downy curls. Hands balled up so tiny, pink digits curled away, clutching to her the essence of her innocence, her purity. As if she knows, little baby Lori, that when these hands open they will be tasked with the dirty work of play and exploration, they will grow and elongate and stretch and become dirty and scarred and no longer new things. But tools at the ready. So precious though, in this moment, Abbie would dare say, she has Jenny's brows. 

There, with her sisters daughter tucked in her arms Abbie is struck by a bolt of surety as she gazes into her sleeping nieces face. "Abe," she breathes, cautiously considering before she exhales this delicate truth,"I want this," she murmurs quietly, confidentially, afraid almost of her own voice as she speaks it. He is closer than she had noticed, a hand on her shoulder as he cranes his neck to peer into Lorelei's face. Abbie turns imperceptibly to meet his eyes, finds herself staring into happy bewildered pools of green. Cracking a small smile he kisses her temple, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

They don't say anything else. They don't need to.

***********************  
June 2016

Dreams do come true, Chantal thinks as she enters the Radio City Music Hall on Orion Angel's arm. She's not starstruck by the celebrities, but she is awed by the composers she recognizes, a few musicians that she's worked with in the past flit about briefly before dashing back stage to prepare their routines. Chantal's wearing a blush coloured sparkling shimmering dress, it has structured flounces, cut just a little higher in the front so there's no danger of tripping. It's off the shoulder, exposes her collar bone and shows off the necklace from Orion. He'd protested to it being too plain for a night like tonight. 

"Look at me Angel," She'd said.

He'd paused to take all of her in. She'd taken out the braids and was wearing her hair natural tonight, lovely styled curls that he had for once conceded to let her do because he was terrified of somehow ruining this night for her. After all this was the first time she'd ever been nominated. Rose gold diamond studs glittered in her ears. Dainty chain bracelets and rings adorned her hands. The dress itself catches light and makes her brown skin glow. She blinks a few times, eyes too wide, she'd gotten a new prescription for her contacts mere days ago and she's still adjusting. 

"Glasses glare" she'd said when he'd rolled his eyes at her fussing. "If I win, I don't wanna look like a comic book villain sitting in a dark corner," she'd drawled. 

Orion, in a smart midnight blue suit with an amber coloured tie, setting off an eerie, otherworldly light in his eyes, swallows hard. "I'm looking,"

"I don't need anything else tonight, I'm well adorned and sparkling. So I'm wearing this necklace. No ifs ands or butts." Extending her hand to him she'd nodded to the door. "Don't make me late for my night Rybaby," she winked at him, and they had gladly set out into the night. 

Now, they settle themselves into their seats and Chantal is honestly just happy to be here. When her category comes around she's all but forgotten she's been nominated for Best New Musical Score. 

"And the nominees are,……"

Her eyes begin to mist up but only because Orion's clutching her hand so hard her rings are cutting into her skin. She takes a deep breath and hisses at him before he abruptly eases up on the pressure.

"……and Chantal Adams for 'Love Let's Go'. And the winner is," 

Silence. She regulates her breathing, prepared to cheer on her peers, hands raised to begin clapping.

"Chantal Adams Love Let's Go!" 

Applause erupts around them but she remains still. Later, when the entertainment news channels are replaying footage the camera will pan to Chantal sitting in the audience completely stunned, eyes blinking and mouth slightly agape before clasping a hand to her mouth and gathering her courage and confidence to stride purposefully toward the stage. But in real time, Chantal turns to meet the sparkling eyes of her companion. "Orion," she whispers breathlessly. "What's my name?"

"Chantal Adams, Tally," he raises her hand to his lips, kisses it, and pulls her to her feet, ushering her out into the aisle where Chantal remembers herself and finds something resembling poise. On the stage she accepts the award and is overcome. 

"Thank you!" she calls, voice jubilant and surprised. "I didn't prepare anything, honestly, I'm so honoured. I, whew!" she laughs and dashes away a happy tear as the audience cheers more and laughs with her. "I, I want to thank God, the almighty, without you I am nothing. My mother, my father, for loving me, supporting me," She takes another breath, eyes tracing and tracking back to her abandoned seat, the man beside it, with his face exultant and beaming, basking in her triumph. "My Angel," she continues warmly. "I love you," 

"I love you" he mouths back. 

"My cast, my orchestra, my playwright. Macey Irving! For her rousing performance and rising to the occasion on such short notice. Abraham Van Brunt, Abbie and Jenny Mills, NIcholas Hawley, Cynthia and Frank Irving, Luke Morales, these people, they changed my life last summer and have become my home away from home, my friends, the brothers and sisters I never had. Thank you again so much for your support, your critique, for hearing, me," she brings a hand to her chest. "For hearing what I had to say and listening to it. Thank you, thank you so much" She raises her prize above her head for the briefest moment to more applause before she makes her way off stage. 

"We're going to break but we'll be right back for performances by the cast of Hamilton!"

Back in her seat next to Orion he holds her so tight. "You said you love me, up there, the whole world saw it,"

"I'm not ashamed of you Angel," her eyes twinkle at him. 

"To think I have known you so long and I was such a poor friend to you---"

"You've been the man I needed, wanted, since we started this." she brushes her thumb against his cheek. "I love the man who plays in my hair until I fall asleep and was MAD at me when I got extensions because he couldn't touch it anymore. Who's so greedy for me" she grins wickedly at him. "So selfish, he claims not to want me singing for anyone else. who's so astonished that I would tell the world I love him. It's no secret between us. Why should it be to anyone else?"

Later that night they will also be rolling footage of the passionate kiss Orion plants on her then, how guests around them turn to cheer and clap. This will go viral too. 

Abbie and Abraham will snicker about it in the hotel room in Berlin. 

Jenny and Nick will grin at them while Lorelei dozes in Jenny's arms. 

Crane will look up from his book to note the screen, smirk, and turn his eyes back to the page. 

And Chantal will smack him playfully on the shoulder the next day. "You have the WORST timing!" she laughs. 

All he does is kiss her again. And again. 

She can't get a word in edgewise. 

****************************  
August 2016

The proposal comes in early August. Crane helped him go ring shopping. He'd balked at Crane's ostentatious tastes. 

"Go big or go home Abraham," Crane had mused with a smirk. He's feeling rather proud of himself ; he's writing a book. Finishing one. His agent was very pleased with his latest draft. Didn't even send the usual criticisms in the email. Merely :Well Done. 

With any luck it'll be on shelves in time for Christmas. 

Honestly, Crane's only ambition was to get it on curriculum reading lists. 

"Thanks for this," Abraham says, clasping a hand on his friends shoulder as they peruse the jewellery cases. "For everything Ichabod."

Crane screws up his mouth and pats the hand absently. "Stop it, we're brothers Abraham. Surely you know by now I want to see you happy. Both of you."

"Crane----"

"Don't you dare start hinting I get back into the dating world." he scolds gently. "In my time and not a moment sooner. I can scarcely tolerate the notion. Look at what happened with Miss Corinth"

"Perhaps she realized indulging your junk food addiction was doing no favours to your waist line," Abraham jeers and just barely ducks a playful swing at his head. Clearly ruffled, Crane straightens his collar, tucks his hair behind his ears, imperceptibly glances toward his belly…..it was only a jest, he assures himself, but he'll be asking Nick to take him to the gym when he gets back. 

Crane embraces them both before he leaves. "When is your stop back in town?" he asks Abbie.

"Whew, well, I'll have a show there November. In time for Jenny's wedding" 

"Keep safe then." He folds her in his arms. "I'm so very proud of both of you. You suit each other, I hope you know that. And know that I mean it," he asserts, stepping away, plucking up his bag, and giving Abraham a one armed hug at the door. He winks at him. "Good luck," 

His friend blinks back tears. It had been a good visit, all three of them back at the house Katrina had bequeathed Abbie and Crane. They'd tended the garden, had some pictures done, actually, all went shopping and bought books and music to leave in the house. Had prepared meals together and discussed plans for the future. An absolute marvel, after all they have been through, to be friends. Family. And to have Crane's support in asking for Abbie's hand? Well, whatever wrongs he perpetrated, he admires this in Ichabod Crane, that he has been willing to move on and know himself on his own terms, no one elses. 

*******************  
September 2016

The night before her tour kicks off Abbie considers being afraid. 

The night of her first performance abroad, and she hears the racket in the amphitheatre, sees the lights, she doesn't consider being afraid so much as it grips her right then and she dare not speak lest she use anything that remains of her voice. Abraham leads the group prayer backstage with her backup singers and instrumentalists. Then spun her around pressing his forehead to hers. "Abbie," 

She'd merely nodded, eyes darting toward the stage she was expected to walk out and command. 

"Abbie listen to me, look at me sweetheart."

Eyes flutter closed and then open to lock with his. It never fails. His eyes calm her down to a point of zen. Not quite close enough given the thrum of energy tonight, but enough for the threat of being paralyzed to scurry away. A flicker of courage takes its stead. "Just sing. Enjoy this. This is yours. And this isn't your first time singing, so don't worry. I've got you." he assures her before he presses a kiss to her forehead then her mouth, deepens it, a hand gliding through her hair and a rush of warmth floods through her. 

"Oh that's cruel" she mutters as she draws back. "Riling me up like that."

"Distracted you, didn't it?" 

"You're gonna pay for that later,"

"You make the most enticing threats," he jokes. 

October 2016

Her first night alone on Tour is because Abraham took sick with a nasty cold and no amount of protestation could allow Abbie to let him stay. Aside from the looming threat of her catching ill, she couldn't watch him all fevered and stuffed up waiting for her in the hotel room. Wheezing coughing fits into the night and knowing she's unable to dedicate the time to take care of him. It's no easy thing to force him back on a plane with one of their handlers. But she's not about to let her fiancee worsen on her watch.

Hmmph, she smirks to herself that night in the bed as she face times him. He is still red nosed and honking like a goose when he blows his nose but his eyes look considerably less weary and he's not coughing nearly as much. Fiancee, she turns the ring on her finger fondly. Admiring the glittering cut of the ring. It's set in rose gold. Chocolate diamonds---like your eyes, he'd said---And she grins like a fool every time she remembers it---framing a white one. Breathtaking thing. Abbie didn't think she'd be here again so soon, that she would have been so enthusiastically willing to accept it. 

The timing is wrong, surely, now with them to and fro hither and thither on this show and this tour and that award, concert, interview---any number of things now could interrupt them, pull them apart---but they'd been apart before, in the beginning, they'd built foundation that way. She has confidence in this, in him. They've got this. 

"What are you so smiley about?" he teases. 

"Just admiring this ring some love sick fool gave me,"

"What a schmuck,"

"Hey, watch your mouth," she cuts her eye at him through the screen "I love that schmuck"

"Do you now?"

"With all my heart. I mean, look at this rock," she teases and loves Abraham's robust laugh in response, even when it sends him into a cough-sneeze fit. 

******************  
November 2016

"She's gotten so big" Abbie says in quiet wonder as she takes baby Lori in her arms. 

"You sure you can carry train and baby?" Jenny queries as she takes in Aunt and niece seemingly to have forgotten she's in the room. "Cause Chantal's wearing an almost identical dress"

"I can do both Jenny geez don't you trust me?"

"You keep staring at Lori I'm sure you're gonna trip" Jenny gives a toothy grin. 

"I'm not going to trip and you and I both know Chantal's got her hands full with that organ. You never struck me as the big wedding type."

Jenny sticks her tongue out before turning back to the mirror and smoothing down the lace dress with the cap sleeves and plunging back, it's got a little flare at the bottom. The daintiest veil trails from her head. 

"Isn't mommy pretty Lori? isn't she?" Abbie asks as she bounces the little girl who gurgles happily in response. 

"Yeah well, people change." she quips, reaching for her bouquet. 

A rap at the door and Abbie exchanges a glance before answering. It's Crane, arms outstretched. "In the event young miss Lori can't contain her enthusiasm, I think it's best Abraham and I keep her," he explains while Abbie blinks in astonishment at her niece reaching her chubby little fingers for him. 

"Uggy Ane" she burbles. 

"What?" 

Crane gingerly lifts Lori out of her arms and cradles her to his chest. "I believe it's supposed to approximate Unkie Crane,"

"He watches her when Nick or myself aren't able. She's gotten attached to him." Jenny snickers at Abbie's awe stricken face and they both watch as Crane marches back out the room with her smiling gaily in his arms. Abbie shakes her head and smoothes her dress. 

"Are you ready?"

Jenny huffs. "I don't really have a choice now do I? Hawley trapped me when he knocked me up," but her eyes are glittering and her mouth quirks on the side. "I just hope I'm good at this,"

"You're going to be fantastic," Abbie assures her. "Good news is you'll have advice to give me when it's my turn."

"Oh great," Jenny laughs as they exit the room. "The upside to getting married is becoming a know-it-all"

"Come on, future Mrs. Hawley. He's been waiting a long time."

"He has, hasn't he." Jenny smiles at her sister. "Love you Abs"

"Love you too sis"

******************  
January 2018

She's played many weddings. Funerals. Services. Sang at concerts. Scored chorales and scores. But this she's never done. Entrusted the musical dealings for one of her own events, to someone else. 

Not that she had a choice. 

Bride can't very well be playing her own wedding march. Her own wedding song. 

No, it's Abraham and his friend Joe Corbin who's just stopping in town who are doing her the favour now. Macey will sing for them later. Chantal looks down at her dress. A winter wedding. Her dress is an interesting thing. Ruffled bell sleeves, tiered skirt. There's something bohemian chic meets victorian era about it. It flows, it cinches in the right places. On her crown rests a dainty circlet of silver and gold vines twining around one another.

A cape---a winter wonderland wedding to be precise----that they're holding on some country property, vows to be exchanged out in the open. An OUTDOOR winter wonderland wedding---of all the ridiculous notions she'd conceded too. It sounded so magical in the planning. She'd suggested so many things but that's all well and good until you remember how COLD January is. But it just snowed last night, luckily. Hearty, thick, blanketing white stuff. The air is a little less frigid, little less unkind. 

Her father walks her down the aisle. Her mother bawls. Abbie is maid of honour. Abraham is best man. Danny, after Abraham had assured Orion he was an overly affectionate friend and that's all--had been permitted to choreograph a wedding dance for the men to do. It will inflict on Abbie and Chantal alike thirteen different shades of embarrassment to see their men shimmying and shaking before them on the floor. Memories equal parts fond and mortifying. 

They're taking each others names. Orion's idea of an equal exchange. She can't really love the man anymore than she does but she does try. He still outdoes her at it. 

They exchange their vows. Prayers they've written for each other. 

Their first kiss as husband and wife is…..cinematic. It starts snowing just as their lips meet. Orion grins at her, pecks her lightly once, twice, before giving her a fully committed involved kiss. Her hands grasp at his jacket and his press on her waist and back. She is not okay when he suddenly dips her, swings her back upright and up into his arms to carry her down the aisle. "I hate you," she whispers as they march away with their friends cheering around them. But the way she kisses him once on her feet again is utterly unconvincing. 

At the reception, Abraham joyously, announces them. 

"I want to take full credit for setting the perfect stage for these two." he jokes. "For being the ultimate backdrop for my producer and friend to ask Chantal, who's like a sister now to me, for her hand. I present to you, Mr and Mrs Angel-Adams to share their first dance," 

They glide towards the centre of the dance floor and Orion clutches her hand in his as he presses his lips to it, holding it against his cheek and keeping her so close there's hardly a breath between them. His eyes never leave hers. "Well. I've got you now Tally." he teases. "And I'm not letting you go."  
****************  
March 2017

He's treating himself to a drink after being informed the publishers want another work from him. He's at his favourite pub, quietly celebratory until a mad throng of St. Patricks revellers descend on the establishment. Too many youth in green clothes and drinking green beer and boisterously loud and all he wants is to get out of there but the place is packed. What's worse is a few students recognize him and have now taken to cheering that he ought to join them in a pint. 

"I'd rather not"

"Come on Professor! Let your hair down!"

"Luck of the irish Professor Crane!"

"We won't tell!"

The impertinence, he thought. "If you'd let me by, thank you," and just as a way finally starts to clear some commotion has broken out in the back of the bar. The shatter of a glass. He doesn't think it's a fight, still too much drunken revelry for there to be any cause for alarm but none the less the authorities are out in full force and just as he reaches the door he finds himself being backed into the dark bar by a confident steely eye officer. She's pretty. Something about her face that crosses him as the easy to smile sort. Crack a quick joke, hilarious or not as yet to be determined. 

I don't think I've ever met a freckled brunette he thinks absently before she waves his badge in his face. He rolls his eyes. "Officer, please, I was just leaving," 

She looks him over slowly assessing and his fingers twitch. "Have you been drinking sir?"

"Well it is a bar," he snaps. "I was just leaving, some of these are my students---"

A raised, intrigued, judgemental brow. "You drink with your students, sir?"

"No I do not drink with my pupils, listen I came here for a celebratory drink. this crowd just arrived, I've been trying to--"

She cuts him off and he fumes. "Where do you teach sir,"

"SHU" he replies tersely. "I am a history professor, am I permitted to leave?"

Another assessing glance and she jerks her head toward the door. 

They stare one another down a moment, a little crackle between them. Too intense for civilian and cop. Smoothing back his hair he leaves in a huff, flinging the door widely and raucously behind him. 

As she moves further into the crowd towards where another glass has met its end she smiles a little to herself. He's got nice eyes she thinks. 

"Alright, Break it up, you guys, come on, put everything down, get your things, no one gets charged alright?" 

As she follows the rambunctious group out the door the owner smiles gratefully. "I know what day it is, good for business, still makes me antsy"

"No harm no foul," she nods, giving a small salute.

"Next rounds on the house Lieutenant Foster!"

"I'll hold you to that!" she laughs as she signals for her partner Luke Morales to follow her out the door. 

Sophie became unexpectedly fast friends with former Lieuntant Abbie Mills one day, both browsing the same aisle in fiction. That had been a month ago. A quick chat and Abbie had snorted a laugh. "So you're who took over for me huh?" she shook her head. 

"Guess so. Doing a damn good job of it too, if I may say so," That had led them to coffee and a lively exchange of background and what had drawn them to law enforcement, what drew Abbie away from it. 

No details, of course. Abbie is still in no hurry to share everything at any available turn. But over beers in some months to come, bit by bit, they'll know more. She'll meet Jenny, and Chantal. They'll all be there at Frank's annual BAMF BBQ.  
********  
July 2017

Abbie and Sophie are both there to pick up the latest by a favourite fantasy author. Just when they're ready to head for the door, Abbie curses, dashes back toward the last shelves and returns with a heavy, thick, intimidating thing. "Benjamin Franklin and His Many Debaucheries: An account of history and science" 

"What'd you need that for?" Sophie had asked incredulously. Abbie rolled her eyes, lips pressed into a thin smile. 

"Author is a friend of the family. I can't NOT buy a copy." she muses, handing it over to Sophie who is curious as to who, out of Abbie's seemingly arts oriented circle, has such a heavy inclination toward academia. The name on the front means nothing to her, so she flips to the back of the dust jacket, shocked to find she recognizes the face gazing archly back the would be reader. She'd forgotten about him until now. 

Now she wonders how she'd managed to do that. There's a directness in his gaze that could pin you place. Even from a picture. "I've met this guy"

Abbie's gaze slides to her, a sly grin creeping stealthily across her face "Have you now?" Sophie doesn't answer, face flushing, knowing there must be something telling in her expression for Mills to regard her in that manner. "Well, you're in luck. You'll get to reacquaint yourself in a few weeks. You're coming to the reception, right?"


	67. The Dreams We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward two steps back, that's the way my time lines go. lol
> 
> So lots happening here, some glimpses of the couples over the years. 
> 
> This ones a doozy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD NEWS LAST CHAPTER COMING VERY SOON. I'm not even kidding I'm editing at this very moment.
> 
> One more chapter because it needs its own space, and this one was LONG and....and well, there's someone's wedding we HAVEN'T seen yet.....so this pair gets the closing chapter as their time to shine. 
> 
> again THANK YOU SO MUCH for being on this ride with me.

Future 2035

Abbie's released four albums and has found herself unceremoniously dumped into the middle of two movie scripts. Abraham finished his first film and is now headed back into the studio. But at his leisure. 

Orion is lax nowadays with timelines.

Him and Chantal have three girls that keep him plenty busy. His little angelic chorus he calls them. It's truly a sight to see tattooed and slick Orion Angel playing in his daughters hair and singing them songs, piggy back rides and kissing their mother silly in the kitchen when he thinks no one has noticed him slipping away at gatherings. 

Jenny's first is a strong willed daughter like herself, who breaks all of the rules at every available turn. Their son came much later.

Ichabod remarried. Five historical books, two of which now featured on high school and SHU reading lists. His wife, Sophie, an FBI Agent. They have two children, Joshua the elder and Kate his little sister.

Luke had found someone too. A woman who picked him out of a crowd and reached to him across the world until the distance nagged at him. 

Calvin has a daughter, and woman in his life who chases dreams as much as he does. For a time in the beginning, keeping pace with Pandora had been like playing where in the world is carmen san diego. 

Andy found someone sweet tempered, but just forthright enough to make things clear. Zoe Corinth corralled him into a church the summer of 2016. Made short quick work of him. They have a son named Ivan. 

Abbie is a mother of five. Her first born, twins, they named after the loved ones they lost. Edward and Icarus. Bouncy curly hair and sonorous voices like their parents. But one plays sax and the other developed an affinity for the harp. Her third child, a girl, Bee Wild Van Brunt. A cobbled together thing from their nickname for Chantal---also a Godmother to Bee-- and their own wishes for their daughter to take charge of life. 

It read like a command. They hoped whenever Bee found herself in a tough spot, doubting herself, faced with reservations, and she had that talk with herself, that moment when she sought her innermost counsel, that just the utterance of her name would instil in her strength and resolve. The wildness needed to make the scary decisions, and reap their rewards. Their last were fraternal twins, Isaiah and Hope.

It's their eighteenth Christmas since they've been married, and Macey is preparing to perform for them, it's time for her first album release, a cover album of broadway greats. There are so many of them in the room, the five Mills-Van Brunt children, The Hawleys, The Angel-Adams', Irvings and the Cranes. Ichabod is father to a baby girl named Kate. Sophie is away on a mission. Of all things, Ichabod managed to find himself in league with another woman possessed of a penchant for crime solving. 

"Harmony, Melody and Echo," Chantal calls melodically and the three girls, all wearing festive party dresses in green, red and gold coming streaming in, toddling little Isaiah and Hope with them into the family room. She lovingly caresses their daughters hair and looks up to find Orion's heated gaze watching her fondly with their children. 

Nearly fifteen years, three children later, and Chantal cannot manage to arrest that absurd fluttering trick that her heart learned once she got involved with Angel. Her heart suddenly taught itself to prance and gallop, but it likes to flutter best, beating itself with giddy nerves. A blush mantles her cheek and oh, she loathes the smirk he gives her, her only consolation is knowing she has the exact same effect on him, evidenced by his flushed neck. 

Across the room, with his arms looped around her waist and whispering nonsense that makes her giggle and swat at him is Abraham and Abbie. Their youngest sprawled on the floor, legs kicking, laughing, their uncle Nick making a right fool of himself as he romps with them on the youngest children on the ground.

Bee, Edward and Icarus squished together on the piano bench. Joshua, Crane's eldest is peering over Bee's shoulder as her fingers dance across the keys. Grinning at his simply horrible singing. Lori, the eldest of all, is sketching in the corner. All that relic hunting and art history and she's a very talented artist. Intends to pursue a degree in visual arts come fall, mentorship with Calvin and Pandora.

Macey fell for a performer, of course. They adopted. Wild lively things that drive their Cynthia and Frank stark raving mad. But they adore them. 

They've come a long way, the thought occurs to them all gathered here. An unbelievably long way. And they'll go further still. They wait for Macey to hit the music.   
****************************

Future 2025

"Abbie," Chantal knocks gently on the door. 

"In here!" Abbie chimes, turning one way than the other. Third time around and she's still….entranced when she sees herself like this. There's a strange sort of at home-ness to it. A familiarity. Each pregnancy is different, of course, but one thing always remains, the reassuring morphing of her body, the hands and feet that stretch and kick. She's always careful with those. She'd felt a kick come from the wrong direction the week of delivery from the last one--breeched---and had had to have a c-section. They're vacationing at the house. 

All of them. It's noisy, and crowded but there is laughter and music, her husband and Orion making a racket in song and Crane reading dramatically to all of the children on rainy days, or out in the garden around a bonfire, telling made up ghost stories with the others. 

The men have made a game of passing a piece of wood from one to the other to take the tale in unexpected, terrifying---not too scary---Abbie scolds Nick---or hilarious directions. She came up to use the washroom and grab a sweater for the evening chill. Chantal left her daughters downstairs with their father, declaring a similar need for the facilities. She presses the door and finds Abbie now shrugging herself out of one garment into the other. 

"Would you believe none of my other ones fit? I think I'm actually bigger this time---" Chantal snickers, her fears momentarily forgotten before she skips back down the hall to her room with Orion, rummaging around in her suitcase and returns. 

"I was a house with Harmony," she offers Abbie one of her own long billowy cardigans. "I still wear this because it's cozy. Here,"

Abbie accepts it gratefully, turns in the mirror once more, smiles as she ties it off at the front. She notices a curious expression on her friends face. "What's up?"

"Do you….do you have a pregnancy test?"

Abbie blinks at her dumbly for a moment. "Are you serious?" 

"As a heart attack," she hisses, closing the door behind them. 

"Shouldn't that, you know, be impossible?" 

"Well---" 

Another knock on the door and both women holler. "Who is it?"

"The fox in the hen house," Jenny's voice calls, dripping with sarcasm. Chantal quickly lets her in and Jenny enters with her athletic lithe frame and hair pulled back. "What's this, mothers convention and no one invited me?"

"Would you shut the damn door" Chantal groans. 

"Yeesh. What's going on?" Jenny queries as she closes the door behind them. 

"Chantal just asked me for a pregnancy test"

"Didn't Orion get fixed?"

"Do you or do you not!" she snaps and Abbie throws her hand up rummaging in one of the drawers, finds one and hands it to her. 

Chantal accepts it, but then worries it between her fingers, chewing her lip, and a little tear makes its great escape down her cheek. 

The Mills sisters exchange a glance before Abbie sits on the bed, shuffles over to make room, gesturing for Chantal to join her and Jenny leans on the dresser. "Hey, this isn't your first rodeo," Jenny assures her. "You're a fantastic mother. Orion's a great dad. Loves kids."

"I know, I know, it's just that….you know what a hard time I had with Harmony," she sniffles. "It was….it was hard on Orion. On us, after,"

Her friends look at her with dawning realization. It's hard to see it now, but just months ago, they had been unsure if mother and child would survive. And a strange part of Orion had surfaced because of it.   
****************************

There'd been bleeding. A lot of it. The little girl born premature and they hadn't been sure if she would survive on her own. She'd been so scared of losing a child. Orion had been terrified of losing her. 

And it had been so well concealed, so innocuous that if he hadn't confessed to her himself, Chantal would have missed it. But it had been only a week out the hospital, and she had slept in, he was up with the girls and she had come downstairs, hunting for food but had stopped to watch him feeding Melody with one hand, cooing and cuddling the other on his hip. Her heart had been so warm. "Hey," she'd greeted softly, gliding in and lifting the baby out of his arms, kissing her eldest on her head, and then kissing him lightly on the mouth. 

"We need to talk," he'd replied back, voice low. She'd given him a questioning look, and when he met her eyes she'd noticed how red they were. He shook his head, face wracked with some unknown inner tumult. "Tonight, when they're asleep," he'd said. 

It had needled at her throughout the day, and only once she had come up to bed, mug of tea in hand for herself with Orion waiting for her did he tell her his own private horror. 

"I….I feel strange Chantal," his eyes flickering toward her, hands clasped between his knees. "I love her, I do, but some part of me….some part of me….all I can think is….God I'm a horrible man" he breaks down then and Chantal had watched him, dumbstruck. "You. It could have been you, both of you, but if it was you….I'd have blamed her for it. Sometimes I look at her and I think about how I almost lost you to have her. I know it's selfish. I know it's wrong, I….I know this can't, this can't be normal, that's my child," he emphasizes. "And We're so lucky she survived, she's a blessing, and I would never let anything happen to her, but I was so afraid then, that you wouldn't make it. That it would be because of something….someone so small….something I did" 

Slowly, she comes to terms with what Orion is saying. His guilt. His fear. His shame. She should meet it with tenderness and understanding but disbelief strikes first. Rage a close second. "She's an innocent Orion, a baby, how could you be so selfish,"

"You didn't have to pace in that waiting room all right?" he'd snapped. "You didn't have to wonder 'IF' about your wife. I didn't say I was right I'm just…struggling with it. And I'm grateful she's here. Honestly. But….I just don't feel right, lately. I'm nervous, I'm agitated. The thoughts I had then, I'm ashamed of it Chantal, yes, I'm a brat, I'm spoiled but---I love you." he pleaded. "I love our family. I…I need your help Tally, please. Help me through this."

She'd been thrown. She'd always understood after effects of pregnancy, postpartum depression/baby blues to be a female condition. She's wholly unprepared for this side of the man she calls husband. Chantal had wrapped her arms around him though, and they sought counselling. But she hadn't been over eager to let him touch her, for a while, which had been just as well as he seemed self convinced that touching her would result in a pregnancy that could, in his mind, be the one that whisks her away from him this time for good. 

It had been nearly two months since the night he came clean, and they'd been talking, and it was still something he was working through, both of them, because the admission and her subsequent physical withdrawal had inflicted on them a sort of strain, but she loved the man, she did. And, she had to appreciative that he had come to her with his problems. In this she had grown to accept his level of alarm, and many late nights conversing had brought them both to the conclusion that he would get a vasectomy. No more children. They were done. Family of four.

She had been scared too, after all. 

They had merely differed in the depth and handling of their fear. 

The night they made that decision, Chantal reached for Orion for the first time. He had been so scared. Even as he sighed with relief and as she pressed him back on the mattress there had been a sort of trepidation to him, as if he'd needed guidance of the body he knew so well. "Come on Angel" she'd breathed. "I need you" he'd rolled her over then, kissed her softly. 

"And I need you. But until I get that procedure done…..well, guess who's not getting any tonight" 

Although he had given her, something. 

Orion never failed to use alternatives.   
************

But now. Well condoms aren't fool proof. And truthfully, she had missed her pill…once or twice….. before he was called in for his appointment.

And yet,and yet she hadn't questioned when she missed her cycle---they were using two preventative methods after all where one faltered the other should counter--and Orion had indeed already gotten the procedure done---as far as he knows there's no chance of Chantal conceiving again. Another potentially risky pregnancy. But it's been two months and Chantal's inner workings have always been like clock work otherwise. Somehow, some little soldier had slipped through the barrier. And she hadn't managed her defences properly to prevent it. 

She's worried now. She's scared because now that the possibility has taken root, Chantal knows she'll want this child, even though she's sure Orion will fight her on it. For her safety, for the children they have together. 

In the present now the women nod their understanding. 

Jenny rolls her shoulders. "I'll take one with you," Jenny volunteers. "In solidarity," 

"I'm not sure how that helps," Abbie muses but Chantal's mouth quirks. It doesn't, logically, but she loves these women for trying. 

"Give one here" Jenny demands and she makes for the hall way washroom while Chantal uses the en suite in Abbie's. 

Chantal's eyes water as the strip turns. Positive. My God, She thinks. Orion's going to be furious with me. He's going to think I planned this. 

"That son of a bitch" Jenny whispers in disbelief a moment later, walking stiffly into the room and holding the stick in front of her. Sophie comes up the stairs then with her own new born on her hip. 

"The hell are you guys doing up here? They're asking for you"

"Which one? the women chorus. 

"All of them!" Sophie replies. "They're lost without you," she grins, jostling her little girl. She nods toward Jenny who's brows are knit in a face of frustration. "What's wrong with you?"

Jenny thrusts the test in her face and Sophie barks a surprised laugh. "It's not funny," Jenny grouses. "He's going to be thrilled," she moans and the women laugh. Jenny's irregular period had been making more dodgy appearances since she turned thirty five, five years ago. They'd all been positive that would be it for them. Abbie squeezes Chantal's hand, who has been quiet and contemplative throughout the exchange. 

"He's going to be too." She assures her. "Orion will love you, and that baby"

Downstairs, Jenny hauls Hawley into the kitchen who moments later strides triumphantly in announcing that Lori's about to have a sibling. They all chuckle at his exuberance, the consequent fussing he instantly begins to make of Jenny. Grabbing her water, a stool to put her feet up. Sophie perches herself on Crane's knee and he reaches around her to offer his finger to their daughter. Joshua Crane, their first born son, is on the floor playing with the Van Brunt daughter, Bee. 

"Give you any ideas?" she teases and gives a trilling laugh to see her husband's face flush. 

Crane clears his throat. "I would….oblige you, if that is your desire," he replies, voice husky and his beard tickling her shoulder where he presses a kiss there. 

Abraham's eldest are driving trucks around his feet and shrugs helplessly as Abbie draws near, glowing in her girth. 

Orion is pleased for Jenny and Hawley, one of the first to shake Nick's hand. "Congrats man." he smiles genuinely and that's when Chantal beckons for him to follow her outside. 

In the garden, his arm around her, heads knit together, Chantal grinds to a halt. "Tally?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, tries again. "….I didn't tell you, before… I messed up on the pill, before you went in for your appointment."

The expression on her husbands face is puzzled. "Yes…." he prompts slowly. "But, I was still using---"

"You know those aren't one hundred percent." 

"Tally," he turns her to face him, places his hands on her waist. "What are you telling me?"

"I'm pregnant." 

In the silence that follows he could suggest she abort it. He could begin a mad decent into irrational fury and worry. He could accuse her of carelessness. 

"I want it, them," she adds. His arms fold around her, pulling her in close. She hugs him back. "I---"

"sssh" he soothes. "I did this. I'm sorry. All of my panicking about Harmony, I've really messed with your head."

She doesn't deny it. "But, we agreed."

"I know. I know, but…..it's not that I don't want more kids, Tally. I just don't want to lose you. That's my biggest fear." he pulls back to peer into her face. "We know there are risks now. We'll know what to look for…..and….if in spite of all our efforts, there's someone still determined to be a part of our family, it's gotta be God's will. I try not to quarrel with omnipotent powers."

"You don't want me to get an abortion," she states. 

"An abortion!" he exclaims. "No---"

"I just don't want to go back there." she says. "To that place where you're scared and I half resent you for it and we don't touch…."

He seals his mouth over hers. "I told you when I struggled before and you saw me through it. So long as we stay honest with each other," he kisses her again. "we can do this." he moves his hand around to her abdomen. "And….you'll both make it."

Back inside the house Orion declares his own good fortune. 

Their youngest and last, a baby girl named Echo, went full term. Although it hadn't, as Orion feared it would not be, been an easy pregnancy. However, she was perfect. Beautiful. An exact blend of Chantal and Orion. 

Connor, Jenny and Nick's son, was born two days before. 

"Well I'm done," Chantal announced, and then, gaze sliding toward her husband "You?" 

"You don't really have much choice," Orion grinned. "I've been neutered"   
****************************  
February 2018

Sophie stretches like a cat, rises up on her elbows to the smell of bacon. She grabs for her robe and pads down the hallway to greet the man who's just finishing up in her kitchen. Setting out plates and pouring coffee. 

"Morning," she calls warmly, a smile even in her voice and Ichabod startles, sloshing coffee over the rim of his mug. 

"Miss Foster," he flusters as he sets them down on the table, gesturing for her to take a seat. Hands jammed in the pockets of her fuzzy robe Sophie saunters over to him. 

"You know, men who share my bed don't usually call me 'Miss Foster'" she taunts him, trailing a finger down his chest and leaning close enough that her lips brush his ear. "Unless you're into that" she derives a perverse pleasure from seeing his ears turn pink. 

It will amaze Sophie in the years to come that the man can oscillate between condescending and staggeringly shy. And there had been nothing shy about the man who had trapped her against her front door last night, hungrily pawing at her while she fumbled and dropped her keys.

Gentleman in the streets, freak in the sheets she muses looking at him now and she makes a great show of flinging out her robe behind her in the same flourishing way that he does with his coat before she takes the offered seat and he pushes her in to the table. 

On Crane's part he doesn't know what came over him. One minute they were at the rally on campus, he forgets what they were protesting now, it seems highly irrelevant and the next they'd gone for a beer. And then…well, there they were. Perhaps too much to drink. 

Although truth be told, he and Sophie had been doing a dance of sorts for a little while now. The timing has just never seemed right. Now is surely worse as she informed him, just last night over the third….fourth? drink that she had put in an application for Quantico and had been accepted. And he's as sure as the sunrise, he's not up to the task of a long distance relationship, nor any sort. Hasn't been. Crane still doesn't know if he quite, trusts himself to get fully involved with someone. Besides, with his friends and their children and all of their events and his own preoccupation with his career….a want for a companion has been….well, shelved. 

He wishes he could call up the reason that he had done what he had. Had it been cowardice rearing its head once more when she'd told him she'd be leaving for training soon? Had he seen an opportunity for something unfettered, undemanding, and seized it? 

For all the ways he's progressed, some things he fears he failed to let go. 

He harbours no regrets, not at all. Sophie was…..a lively, enthusiastic partner. She'd teased and threw barbs at him but respected his work ethic as he did hers. And, she was an attractive woman. he'll admit that, privately, he'd become rather, fond of all those freckles that graced not just her face in that charming adorable spray, but elsewhere. 

That Sophie giggled and shrieked with laughter as he had played connect the dots with those freckles last night, tasting each little spot with lips and tongue, had been a pleasant, endearing surprise. He became very well acquainted with a small constellation behind her ear. 

"Thanks for breakfast by the way," she says breaking the silence in which Crane had, unbeknownst to him, been staring off into space with a decidedly dreamy look on his face. He shook himself abruptly. 

"I meant it as….a…."

"Uh uh." Sophie washes down her mouthful with a swig of coffee. "You're not about to thank me for last night Crane. No apologies either, I see one dancing on your tongue." 

Brow raised, Crane drinks deeply from his cup. 

"Listen, I, I know, about you, alright? Don't date, gets wrapped up in his books. Some…baggage, I expect. Everyone's got some. I've been through some rough times myself. So no need to clear the air about last night being a one off," She tosses her hair to the side, revealing a dark spot on her neck that he knows he is responsible for. "All you," she chuckles as she raises a forkful of eggs to her mouth, having caught Crane staring at her neck. "Branding me like cattle," she reprimands playfully. "Good thing it's still cold out," she continues, pausing to shed the robe and Crane flushes to see another bruise on the skin revealed by her tank top. "V-necks don't hide these suckers."

"Miss Foster---" he starts. Sophie's eyes dance with wicked glee. The more he squirms the more entertaining he is. 

"I'm considering missing you while I'm gone," she cajoles. 

"And when do you leave?" he asked in a tone he hoped conveyed calm and perhaps even disinterest. 

"Soon. I'll let you know when I leave"

She didn't, in fact, let him know. She was gone two weeks later and he hadn't heard a word. She hadn't even bothered to have anyone tell him. He was stung by that, to have had such a romp and then be abandoned so abruptly but----oh. If he lets himself go back there, it isn't so unlike something he had done once. Perhaps karma is paying him a belated visit. 

But is he willing to let the past repeat itself now? he wonders. When he goes to the library to check out a text the Librarian, round with child smiles at him. 

"Hello Ichabod," she chirps. 

"I have some materials on reserve, Mrs. Brooks," Zoe bobs her head at him once and shuffles around behind the desk to fetch them for him. 

"Every thing alright Ichabod?" 

Beep, Beep, goes the scanner as she puts the books through the system. 

"Quite," he hefts the texts under his arm and just then Andy comes through the door, depositing a brown bag on the desk for his wife. She claps delightedly and dives in, retrieving a monstrous looking sandwich and bites into it with gusto. Andy watches her adoringly as she devours it.

Crane studies this moment between the couple. They are a perfectly boring dull pair. The definition of hum drum. Their wedding had been so by the books even he had found it tedious. So sweet and polite and docile he wonders how he or Zoe had ever for a fleeting moment entertained venturing past friendship. Something about her and Andy Brooks had just fit. And rather well, given the child would be making it's debut soon. 

Another slipped through your fidgeting fingers Ichabod Crane. The thought flits across his brain, for the first time an odd feeling rears up in him as he turns his back, waving as he goes. He doesn't' want Zoe, no. Hasn't wanted anything for a while. His life has been overrun with new happy experiences of late, but there's been nothing to shake him up yet. And Sophie Foster, he realizes now, from their first encounter, throughout their tentative and odd acquaintance, to their one night, had been doing that. Bit by bit.

Sophie Foster had been jostling his life as one would a snow globe, gently but with intention, little sparks of laughter and coy glances and freckles---the snow flakes swirling around. Her departure had caused everything to settle. He realizes, he doesn't like it.

*******************  
Abbie and Abraham are at their table in the Archives. They come here often these days. Arman doesn't even bother with the protocol of asking for the password, merely rolls his eyes and lets them through. She's wearing a light sweater dress he bought her for Christmas, him, a shirt and vest she gifted him on Valentines. 

They gaze at each other over their meal, fingers dancing and glancing across each other as they reach in the plate alternatively feeding the other. Eyes twinkling as Abbie sucks sauces off his fingers and they've made a game of plucking random books off the shelf, calling a page number, and reciting the text to one another. They've come across the strangest sources for inspiration that way. They usually end with a dance, or commandeering the stage. 

They'd been caught there one night by ET and Arman had been sore with them for a week when paparazzi had been strolling the street and he'd had to wait nearly two hours for them to scatter before he was able to access the wall panel and open up.

"It's good for your business Hidden One" Abraham had joked but Arman had merely harrumphed. 

"These walls, this haven, is to be visited only by those of a similar creative mind. Among peers who seek to learn and explore. Not for the intrusive masses," he intoned, mouth twitching into a small smile. "I have developed a fondness for your circle. It seems I will become destined to pay for it with celebrity" 

Abbie feeds Abraham a morsel just as her phone rings. "Ignore it," Abraham whispers, catching her wrist and pressing a kiss there, to each of her finger tips and rises from the seat, pulling her to her feet, pulls her in close and begins to samba with her there in their private corner. Whichever misfit group of musicians is in today is all about latin flavour. There's not much room up here, so really it's just a close, rhythmic shuffle. His hand rests on her lower back and he gives her a twirl so she is facing the railing and gallery down below and he continues to dance behind her, hands on her waist, lips to her shoulder, neck, temple. Abbie's hands clasp over his own as she moves, tossing her head back to catch his lips in a searing kiss when the phone goes off again. Without breaking apart Abraham reaches into her back pocket, grazing her behind he gives her a little squeeze as he glides the phone out, brings it around in front of them both, cracking his eyes open and groans. "Crane. May I?" Abbie nods as Abraham answers her phone. "Ichabod?" he calls.

"Abbie? Are you sick?"

"It's me, Ichabod."

"Oh Abraham!" 

Abraham makes an exasperated sound and Abbie hums to the tune below, still dancing while Abraham speaks. "Where are you?" Crane inquires. 

"Archives. Something wrong?"

"No, I had an inquiry for the wife."

Passing the phone into her hands Abraham goes back to dancing The band downstairs has struck up on something with a darker more seductive beat. Abbie swirls her hips in time with him as she answers. "Hey Crane."

"Sorry to interrupt your afternoon delight---" Abbie snorts a laugh. 

"What did he say?"

"Afternoon delight" she gasps between snickers. 

"Not yet," Abraham growls in her ear. "But as soon as I get you home." 

"Spit it out Crane," Abbie commands. 

"My my, more fiery every day. I was hoping you've been in touch with Miss Foster"

"Sophie? Yeah, she called me, a few days ago" 

"I would like to obtain her number, if I may"

"I'll text it to you later," she says, distracted by the fingers drumming on her waist. "Later Crane," phone shut off Abbie spins in the arms of her husband, his eyes glowing with desire. "What am I going to do with you?" she asks, gliding her hands up his arms before reaching around him for her bag, Abraham throws some bills on the table---too much surely but there's love to be made and he'll spare no expense---before they descend the steps, arm in arm, calling a cheery parting to Arman. 

"And don't come back," he taunts with a grin.

Half way up the stairwell Abraham pins Abbie against the wall. "What are the odds," he breathes on her neck, hitching a leg up around his waist. "That someone will come around that corner?"

Her fingers dance in the hairs at the base of his neck and he groans when she kisses his throat "Scandalously likely"

She can't see for the darkness but she can hear the intent in his voice, and she can certainly feel it pressing into her core "What if I tell you I like my odds?" 

This dark corridor tryst will be the day they conceive their twin sons, Icarus and Edward. 

But for that instant, they are just madly and recklessly in love. 

And lucky neither one chooses now to be clumsy.   
*****************************  
March 2018

Her phone rings. "Sophie Foster." 

"Hello," dead air. A pause. Sophie glances at her phone and checks her watch. She's got a training module in less than fifteen minutes. 

"Hello?"

"I apologize Miss Foster It's Ichabod Crane," he jolts himself at last. What does this mean? he asks himself, what are you doing? What do you hope will come of this? Her stunned repetition of his name does nothing to comfort him. 

"I….I know you must have had your reasons for not telling me when you left and if this call is direly unwelcome I won't bother you again, however, I, I wanted to keep in touch. Again my humblest apologies if this is an intrusion"

"How'd you get my number?"

"I'd rather not cause any upset."

"You've called me at my Quantico Training," she grits out. "I've got some place to be in….ten minutes," she grouses, locking up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and beginning to make her way with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. 

"You're right this was a horrible idea---"

"Listen, I meant it when I said I've heard about you, alright? Widower, anger management issues---"

"How---"

"Sleepy Hollow is a small town and there's no secret they won't tell where you're concerned. I've no doubt you're well loved Crane but you're also a well known hazard."

The sharp assessment of his character stings. In the time he had spent with Sophie, he never suspected she might, think less of him. 

"I'm sorry I never told you exactly how much I knew, but, I'm cool with who you are, so there's no need to try and be this guy who wants to get involved when that's not your style," She sees the department she's headed for coming into view and knows she better get to the point sooner than later. Sophie has been in every type of relationship imaginable, brief, fleeting, long, enduring. Jealousy and trust issues and quick tempers and smothering. A blown off engagement, broken promises, she's made enough mistakes that there's no type of man she fears because she's met them all before. 

But she also has a very thorough understanding of what she won't tolerate. And she refuses to be the sort of woman who allows herself to be tricked into believing a man 'can be changed' It had been one thing to get to know him, which she had enjoyed, honestly. 

One thing to sleep with him. 

One thing to understand that they enjoyed each others company and she's an independent woman and he's possibly the best looking well mannered package of damaged goods she's ever laid eyes on. 

One thing to accept that reality. They likely would have picked up when got back. But she hadn't then, and is shocked now---because it's so direly contrary to what she's heard---that Ichabod Crane is making an EFFORT to reach her. 

"You don't owe me anything, I'm not going to judge you, I thought we had an understanding,"

"You said you'd let me know when you left," his voice is quiet, contemplative. "Was that an intentional deceit?"

She's at the doors and this call needs to end now, she knows. "I didn't know it would mean that much to you," she admits. 

"I don't know what you've heard about me." he starts. "And it's probably accurate but you could at least let me tell it from my lips."

"Later. I've gotta go in now."

On the other end, Crane blinks in astonishment. "Call you?"

"No, use mental telepathy. Yes call me" she barks and then, adds, a little doubtfully. "I look forward to hearing this story,"   
******************************  
April 2018

Abbie is propped up in the chair, hissing as the stenographer passes the gel on her stomach. She glances up at Abbie. "Sorry if it's still a little cold. Ah, there we are," she begins moving the wand around, Abraham watches the screen with her in rapt fascination, her hand gripped in his. 

"Hear that?"

A whooshing sound fills the room and Abbie blinks back tears. 

"That's the heart beat," the woman explains with a smile. 

"Our baby, Abe" 

He kisses her forehead. 

"Well well, what have we here…."

The joy dissipates and fear quickly takes up residence. "What, what's wrong?"

"Not a thing. Something's right. Doubly so. Congratulations Mr and Mrs. Van Brunt. You're having twins" 

"Twins," She echoed softly and Abraham choked up. She knows instantly what he's thinking. How deeply this news must touch him. She knows already they will name one of them for his lost twin. She won't let him dispute it. 

"This is really happening isn't it," he says in wonder when they leave, pausing to graze a hand over her abdomen. Abbie holds his hand there and leans into him. 

"Yeah. This is us sweetheart," her eyes crinkle with mirth and his face splits into a smile.   
***********************

March 2019

"This is loco Mills I'm gonna bolt."

Chantal tsks as she hands Sophie her shoes. 

"Yup," Abbie agrees. 

"You're not even going to disagree with me?" Sophie asks and Jenny guffaws. 

"No point in lying to you you're marrying Ichabod Crane." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence guys."

"Don't listen to them they live for fear mongering," Chantal scolds. 

Abbie laughs at last, appearing over Sophie's shoulder in the mirror. "I've known the man the longest, aside from my husband. And everyone has their flaws, but, I can assure you, that man out there has come a very long way." 

Sophie inhales a deep breath. "Alright let's do this before I bolt. Don't let me through those doors if I make a break for it."

She did run, incidentally. Quicker on her feet than any one had anticipated. Made it half way down the street before Crane caught up to her. Had steadied her there on the corner of the road. A starbucks right across the street. 

"Sophie," his tone is cautious, as if coaxing a skittish horse. "Listen, I ran the day of my wedding too. Tried too. Until Abraham caught me," he tells her, peering into her eyes. "Before then, I ran on Abbie. Lost control as a teen, you know all about this, I have been a sprinter of life, but know this." He takes a breath, licks his lips, "For the first time in all of that I had a desire to run toward, Sophie. Run from me later, if I'm nothing like what you expected, like what you need. But if you would come with me now, Agent Foster," his mouth quirks and Sophie startles into laughter. "You are the first, to know me, truly and completely. From the start, to be tasked with seeing through the murky shadows of my past and dare attempt to find light, in me." 

He'd stepped back from her then. "You chose me, against your better judgement. The man I was would have let you run but I'm HERE Sophie," 

By this time the guests have trickled out of the church, now all gathered in a sort of congregational circle, traffic too has ground to a halt. It's a spectacle to be sure, so many people in the road and a groom trying to convince his bride not to flee. Jenny rummages in her purse and Chantal shoots her a look. "What are you doing?" she hisses. 

"I wanna get a caramel apple spice from starbucks, want anything?"

"Jenny!"

"What, it looks like they might be here a while. Excuse me" Jenny blusters past them, crossing the street into the coffee shop. Someone laughs, and then two others trickle off and follow suit. 

Sophie and Crane share a rueful smile. Leave it to Jenny to devise such an unassuming diversion. Someone else has had the stroke of genius to break off for a bagel at the cafe opposite. 

Soon half the guests have disappeared into the neighbouring cafes and shops for warm beverages and morsels. Only the core group remains. Abbie, Abe and the twins. Chantal and Orion. Jenny returned first balancing two trays. Lori toddling beside her and began handing out the drinks she'd acquired. She even passes one directly to Sophie and Crane next. Sophie rolls her eyes and gives Jenny a gentle shove. 

"So," Ichabod continues, steam wafting off the top of his cup, he inhales the aroma, closes his eyes and takes a sip. Sophie watches him, the foam that gathers on his moustache and, a small gasp from one of the guests returning, dabs it off with the sleeve of her dress. 

"Our Wedding has gone to hell," she whispers to him. "We are in the middle of the road, our ceremony has devolved into the most well dressed coffee break that has ever graced the earth," she emphasizes. "I humiliated you,"

"Oh, I think a corner side coffee wedding is mildly more humiliating I'd argue, but that doesn't change my stance. Sophie Foster will you do me the honour of becoming Mrs. Crane?" 

The Reverend, nibbling tentatively on a croissant has sidled up beside them, waiting for his cue. She closes her eyes, drains her cup and holds it out. "Can someone take care of this?" she calls. dutifully Jenny steps forward, taking her cup and Ichabod's. Sophie reaches for his hands. "Okay. I love you. Alright? I love you. And I want this, I just got a little spooked back there,"

"Of all things Sophie don't apologize to ME for having fear." He tugs one of his hands free to stroke the side of her face. " Can you face those fears with me? New and old?"

Her eyes shimmer at him and she fails at wrangling the smile creeping across her face. "Yes. Yes, I can, we will. Yes."

Sophie's arms are thrown around his neck and he pulls her in, kissing her with every bit of himself. Rocking her from side to side and laughing when he breaks apart. 

At last the guests have returned, although some of them still munching and drinking and the Reverend dusts the crumbs off his hands. "Shall we go back inside or---"

"Nah nah do it here." Sophie flaps her hand dismissively and turns back to her soon to be husband, grinning like a school boy. "Right here, I wanna tell our children how their father caught me in the street and begged me to marry him."

"Begged!" Crane exclaims in mock indignation but then Sophie is kissing him again. 

***************************  
Future 2035

"Hey Crane your son is in there trying to write a letter to a girl. He's got your penchant for books and literature but a wordsmith he is not," Sophie laughs over her shoulder as she starts getting ready for bed. 

Curiosity peaked, Ichabod makes his way to his sons room. "Joshua? Josh---" the young man scrambles to stuff the offending sheet out of sight but Crane's nimble fingers snatch it away from him. 

"Come on dad,"

Finger in the air Crane instructs his son to wait as he holds the letter in front of him. "Now, let's see, Dear….oh, son" he reads the name and can't help but smirk. He hands it back to his boy. Joshua looks at him perplexed. 

"What gives I thought you were going to 'help me'" the youth air quotes.

Crane gives a shake of his head. "No, I dare say you'd know best how to approach. You've certainly known her long enough," chuckling to himself Crane retires to the bedroom where Sophie is reclining in one of his sleep shirts. 

"Did you know?" he asks as he approaches, settling himself on the bed and gliding a hand up her thigh.

She chortles "Yes. I think it's sweet." 

His hand moves higher past the hem of shirt and Sophie's eyes glint with mischief when surprise registers on Crane's face. "Wife," his tone admonishes "you aren't wearing any….."

"It would seem I'm not, Professor," she raises a brow at him in challenge. "Is that a problem?"

"Certainly not. You get bonus marks," the blue of his eyes turns black and Sophie's body floods with heat. 

"Don't go easy on me now."

"Sophie," his voice rumbles in her ear, moments before his mouth descends on hers. He draws away by a fraction. Begins kissing across her face, from cheekbone to cheekbone "I think I know how you like it by now, don't you think?"  
***********************

Abbie shakes her head as she picks up a discarded note book on the dining table. It's one of Bees. She wants to be an author. Her mother pauses when she glances at the pages. The tiniest smile tugs at her lips. 

There's a boys name scrawled in the margins. "mom!" Bee trills behind her, Abbie spooks but hands the journal over easily. Giving her daughter a sly smile. "I can't believe you were reading my notebook----" the teen huffs, still muttering her annoyance as she leaves. 

That evening, in their room: 

"I caught our daughter writing in one of her notebooks today"

"Oh?" Abraham peers over the glasses he bought recently and sets aside the pencil and manuscript he's been scribbling music on. 

"Mhmm" she moves toward him on the bed, reaching to remove his spectacles. "A boys name,"

"Really, I've been looking forward to the day I'd have to scare a young man within an inch of his life." his hands rub along Abbie's thighs as she straddles him.

She pulls her top over her head. "You won't have to go far," she tousles her curls and unhooks her bra, tossing it nonchalantly over her shoulder. Abraham reaches up his hands to touch her. The cogs in his mind turn.

"You're not saying….."

Abbie laughs as she leans into him, ghosting her lips over his in dainty kisses. "The one and the same," her fingers work at the buttons on his shirt. 

"Abbie?"

"Mhmm?" 

"If he hurts her, I'll kill him,"

She chuckles into his mouth. "You and I both know you wo---" she cuts off as his mouth roves across her chest. "Won't" she pants.

"What makes you so sure?" 

"Because. Friends don't kill friend's sons,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again IMMENSE thank you for all the support! 
> 
> the absolute FINAL chapter is coming this week! I'm so excited. <3 <3 <3


	68. Because I Knew You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're here! it's finished! 
> 
> This last chapter does some over lay of past and present(don't they all?) with a song (surprise I like putting songs in here) 
> 
> So I hope it works!
> 
> Leave your thoughts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank, the creators of Sleepy Hollow and the wonderful actresses. 
> 
> I want to thank, 
> 
> Eeeeeeeeee, jelise21, nathyfaith, Prince_of_Leaves, Asukachan07, littlered303, sportitude, 2Shay, googlecat, IrfanIrae, Shrilaraune, arya_B, Solembum, Kimiko900, Crii_lali, kitoky, dancinluv, P_Size, OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl, CleoJo, Kim_Lovato, binkty, Elegantbunny, awrightx, adon_irishlullaby, Deweydell25, Sparkli, selfyshhh, ellethom, kaelleigh, Black_Banshee, Hema, babs1967, LarkONeill, NerdyGrlWonder, misshonibee01, NovaNette, Dynamic_Ideation, SarangLasts, Elektralyte, Nickey79, 91nicole, une_ange1, Renata_Ichabbie, tirahsmommy, Nubia, ocxtber, haleyannie_96, Yalegirl03, Blackhoney, and also the 184 guests who left kudos on this work!
> 
> I apologize if I've missed anyone, and I know, this big thank you thing I'm doing here probably sounds overwrought and tawdry and contrived, but this was a big deal for me because it's the longest ting I've ever written, fan fic or original that I felt, this good about. So, I just really wanted to thank you all for this being on this ride with me. I NEEDED you guys to finish this and you inspired me and were so involved and it was WONDERFUL so thank you, if you're still reading, and even if you're not, because as the song goes, 
> 
> "Because I knew you (dear, dear reader) I have been changed, for good"! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> OH and here's the link to the last song I quote through this chapter. Please excuse how strange my lyric spacing is.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQJaZO2nfGg
> 
> If the link doesn't work its "For Good" from the musical "Wicked" by Stephen Schwartz.

Future 2035

Macey gracefully lifts her finger and presses play on the remote for the stereo. 

Everyone in the room looks fondly at each other. This song choice is too perfect. Doesn't it encompass everything about them? All of their complex ups and downs and tangled bonds. But they are the better for it, for their uphill battles and downward spirals they are better people because of each other, in spite, of each other.

Bee's brothers clear off the bench to sit on the floor with the younger kids, Joshua settles beside her. His hand accidentally lands on hers and he withdraws quickly but Bee hardly notices. "I love this musical," she whispers to him as the music starts.

"Which show is this from?" 

"Ssh" Icarus admonishes his younger sister. 

She drops her voice and leans in to Joshua's ear, completely unassuming. "Wicked. It's old." as she draws back their eyes meet. A passing fancy, a shifting tide, clarity flickers in her gaze for all of half a second but he catches it. Knows that moment of 'oh' when seeing something, properly, clearly, for the first time. That moment when you're shocked at how, sharp and illuminated the world is around that particular object, that person. 

"I don't know it." he admits.

"I have the cast album," she studiously looks elsewhere, at the family portrait---they just had it done---newly hung over the fireplace mantle. It includes everyone in this room. "Auntie Chantal got it for me for my birthday--I can lend it to you-- ssh, listen," 

"I've heard it said,  
That people,  
come,  
into our lives,"

Abraham kisses Abbie gently, she strokes his hands laced with hers.

"For, a reason.  
Bringing, something we must learn."

Abbie's gaze passes over Nick and Jenny, sitting companionably together, at Chantal and Orion making eyes at the other across the room. At Sophie and Crane.

"And we are lead.  
To those, who help us, most to grow, if, we let them."

It had been no easy feat for any of them, to let the other in. To share in and offer their hearts. To trust. No easy thing to give of themselves, too, to achieve the happiness they know now.

"And we help them in return----"

********************************  
Future 2045

Crane straightens his sons tie, flicks his hair back. Joshua screws up his mouth as his father fusses. Ichabod has grey at his temples now and a few streaks claiming territory throughout his beard as well. Tortoise shell spectacles balance on his nose. He's his father son, in all but his olive skin tone and the freckles that skipped his face but spray his chest haphazardly, like a Jackson Pollock made flesh---Lori would dispute that comparison due to the obvious irregularity of Pollocks work---he rolls his eyes.

"Well, today's the day my boy. I'm proud of you." 

Joshua turns to the mirror, sweeps his dark shoulder length hair back. He's pleased that his beard has filled out properly by now. He's a very handsome young man. 

"You know, I first met your mother at a wedding."

"I know, dad," Joshua smiles at his father who is obviously about to become very emotional. Ichabod works his mouth, nods and claps him on the shoulder. 

"Alright then. Alright. Let's go see about getting you married, hmm?"  
******************  
Bee is wearing a lovely A line dress with an intricate veil. Abbie can scarcely believe she's here at another wedding so soon. It was only this past fall that her eldest sons both took Chantal's eldest daughters to the altar. Lori married Ivan Brooks---her exact polar opposite three summers before. She's expecting now. 

Bee is her mother's daughter in all but her eyes, that half step between brown and green. And they're kind, like her father's. Melody and Harmony, Chantal's girls, still newlywed and glowing are excited to have another join their ranks. They have so many ideas for them all to have great big family vacations and raising all of their children together--as their parents had done. 

"My beautiful daughter" Abbie coos and Bee tears up. 

"Mom please I don't wanna cry,"

Abbie laughs and leans in, pecking her daughters cheek. "This reminds me so much of my wedding day. I'm having serious flashbacks" she muses. Bee and Joshua are having an outdoor wedding, too.

"Mhmm," the door creaks and there is Bee's godmother and aunt, Chantal and Jenny. "Don't I know it"

Jenny grins, laughter lines crinkling around her eyes. "We ready to do this or what?"  
******************  
As Abraham walks their third child down the aisle, Abbie meets eyes with Sophie, sitting in the front row. "Who'd have thought, eh?" she mouths. Abbie blinks, smiles and then glances at Crane waiting beside his son at the altar. He gives a small, Crane like nod. They're all remembering a day that meant a beginning for them now. A day of starts, beginnings. That led them all, here.

"---Well I don't know if I,  
Believe that's true  
But I know I'm who I am today,  
Because, I knew you."

**************  
"Like a comet pulled from orbit,  
as it passes the sun,  
like a stream that meets a boulder, half way, through the wood"  
****************

July 2017

"Abbie!" Jenny screeches. "You're going to be late!"

"who can say,  
if I've been,  
changed, for the better,  
but."

"I know I know," she mutters dashing around for her shoes, trying to also fasten in earrings. Aha, there they are. She bobs back up, catching her reflection. She still keeps her hair short, now a days. There's a dainty crown of jewelled flowers resting on her nest of curls. She's wearing a lace cropped bodice top with cap sleeves. A high waisted full skirt overwrought with beading and crystals. Yet it's surprisingly light and blinding if she's caught in the sun. The crinoline beneath is a soft pink. 

"Hey!"

"Would you stop---what's that?" Jenny waves a blue scrap at her. A garter. 

"Made from one of mama's church dresses---don't start!" Jenny scolds sharply as a tear rolls down Abbie's cheek. "I am NOT doing your makeup again. Come on!"

"Just give me a second," Abbie fusses, peering again in the mirror.

"You'd think I was marrying the man the way I'm rushing around here and you're still---your hair looks fine!"

"Well you marry him then," Abbie teases, a grin splitting her face at the sight of a wild eyed and irritated Jenny glaring over her shoulder. She twirls a curl around her face, just so. Applies her lipstick, hums happily to herself for the joy of watching Jenny grow more and more agitated. 

Of all things, becoming a mother had made Jenny strict, more strident than Abbie had ever known her to be, and at times overbearingly, if not endearingly, maternal. Even to her. It's as if their roles have been reversed. 

"Abigail Mills you are walking that aisle this morning so help me, the one thing Abraham asked me to do was get you to the church on time"

"We're having an outdoor wedding, Jenny," she smirks. "I'll be in God's church the minute I step out that door." 

"Unbelievable!" Jenny throws her arms up in the air and slams out of the room. "I'll be in the car!" she hollers. 

At last Abbie is alone and has some peace and quiet. She finishes putting on her necklace, spraying on her perfume---something Abraham bought her for their first Christmas. Slides her feet into her strappy white sparkling shoes. One last turn in the mirror. 

"Because I knew you,  
because I knew you,"

"You look like the sun has risen in your face baby." Abbie let's herself imagine she hears their mother's voice, that she even sees her standing proudly behind her in the reflection, resplendent in her own mother of the bride garb. "Go and be the beautiful bride that man is waiting for out there. Don't keep him too long," she chortles softly, and then she blinks and she shakes the silly imagery from her mind. 

"I have been changed, for good"

Yes. Today is the day. Abbie Mills is getting married. 

******************  
"It well may be,  
that we will never, meet again  
in this lifetime  
so let me say before we part,  
so much of me,  
is made,  
of what I learned from you,"

"I know how to tie a tie Ichabod!" Abraham slaps Ichabod's hands out of the way. Fidgeting long fingers that have been adjusting and re-tying for the better part of the last fifteen minutes. Ichabod glances at his friend before moving on to straighten his collar and Abraham groans. 

"Lord deliver me from Ichabod Crane," he pleads and catches his friends answering smirk. 

"I am merely ensuring that you look your best for your bride. You know how prone she is to a change of heart," he taunts and Abraham's face turns red. Had it really only been two years ago? 

"You don't think she would, do you?"

Crane gives him a withering glance. "I don't think I've ever seen Abbie so utterly besotted. Not even with me. She'll be there. Mark my words." he stands back from him at last. Taking the whole of his friend in. In the last couple of years there are few outward changes, but many on the inside. He doesn't think he's ever seen his friend's eyes so electric crackling with life and vitality. 

"Gangs all here!" Hawley bellows as he strides forward with a curly haired toddler on his hip. Orion, Calvin, Luke and even Andy marching dutifully behind. They're having the wedding by the lake. They have seating set up for a small ceremony. Andy and his wife, Zoe Corinth. Luke and his girlfriend from abroad Sabine. Crane himself had been surprised when he'd heard Abbie and Abraham's plans to invite her former flames. It seemed questionable from a sanity view point. 

"They have shaped her, us, our journey. If they can be there, I welcome it. After all. You're, invited," Abraham had replied when Crane had voiced his concerns. 

"Unkie Crane!" the toddler chimes. 

"Hello little Lori," he smiles, grabbing hold of the little girls finger. Hawley beams. 

"Been asking for you all morning, unkie Crane unkie Crane," 

"We've come a long way," Abraham muses. "To think only two years ago Lorelei's mother had clobbered him on SHU Campus,"

"If any one messes up today I'll clobber them too," Jenny declares as she approaches them, holding her arms out for her little girl who has already forgotten unkie Crane entirely and is now reaching for her mother. "Here I am Lori," 

"Where's auntie?"

"Auntie's on her way and she looks just like a princess,"

"Like you did?"

"I wouldn't go that far," she chuckles softly as she hands Lorelei back over to her husband. "We're about ready, you can start the music!"  
***********************  
Future 2045

"You'll be with me,  
like a handprint on my heart.  
And now whatever way out story ends,  
I know you have rewritten mine,  
by being my friend"

Abraham places his daughters hands in those of Joshua, son of his best friend. 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Bee Wild Van Brunt and Joshua Clarence Crane in Holy Matrimony"  
***********************  
July 2017

Cynthia walks down with Frank. 

Chantal with Orion.

Jenny carries Abbie's train.

"Like a ship blown from it's mooring,  
by a wind off the sea,  
like a seed dropped by a sky bird,  
in a distant world," 

Abraham's mouth has gone dry as he looks at her. He dashes away tears. "My God she's beautiful," he murmurs and Crane nudges him in the side. 

"Keep it together or we'll all be in tears," he scolds, even though his own voice wavers in that tell tale way. 

"Who can say,  
if I've been changed,  
for the better,  
but.  
Because I knew you" 

"There he is," Jenny whispers as they move forward. Step together. Step together. Abbie takes a deep breath. 

"Because I knew you,  
I have been changed, for good"

Yes. There he is. 

My fiance, my groom, my lover, collaborator, friend. All of these words mean belonging and bonds, what ties them together, what links their hearts, their minds. All of these words mean mine. He is mine. I am his. We belong not only together but to each other. We are one another's from this day forward until we die. Yes. There he is, Abbie blinks, water escaping but damn them all she will cry if she wants to. Because these are happy tears. These are she cannot believe after all they've been through that this beginning is hers. His. That she can give him this too, is overwhelming. Abbie didn't know she could be a gift to someone else until Abraham. Everyday he thanks her for loving him. Thanks God Above for them finding one another, messy as it had been. Abbie didn't know she could be someone else's version of happy, until now. All she wants is for Abraham to have joy in his life and he finds that in her. To think she could give him all that he deserves, by giving herself, that she can give him this---she's so overflowing that she doesn't care about her makeup. 

They are a gift to the other. It's a beautiful, glowing, true thing, a surer thing than she has ever known. And then she is before him. His eyes shine. He laughs and blinks and she thumbs away his tears just as he reaches to wipe away hers. All around them their loved ones chuckle at them, Luke outright crows. "Pull it together Mills!" Sabine's hand clasped firmly in his and Abbie shoots back fiercely, never breaking stride.

"Stuff it Morales,"  
*****************  
"And just to,  
clear the air, I ask forgiveness,  
for the things I've done you, blamed me for"  
*****************

And they laugh even more. All of them such far cries from who they once were. All of them bound to the other in some wonderful or frightful way. It had been only mildly awkward when Sabine had turned up in Sleepy Hollow, bumping into Jenny and Hawley on a walk with Lori.

Luke the former fiance. Andy a strange friend, but now a husband and soon to be father. Calvin still here and there with his photography but he wouldn't miss photographing the wedding for the world. "A deal is a deal Mills," he'd told Abbie when he insisted he would be taking pictures for her and Abraham. Orion and Chantal who at last managed to begin finding each other in the midst of all that chaos.  
*******************  
"but then I guess,  
we know there's blame to share,  
and none of it seems to matter, any more!"  
********************

The madness of two summers past had been utterly necessary. For they would not all know the particular brands of happiness they enjoy now had it not happened. Limits would not have been pushed and feelings confessed and acted upon and hearts set free and minds set straight. For all of the pain that there had been, they owe many things to the wedding catastrophe of 2015. 

So they are all here today, because they love the ones who are to be joined in matrimony. Respect, value, and love those around them who have played a part in their narratives. They have all written this story, together. They have earned these happy beginnings. 

"You're beautiful," Abraham says softly. 

"You too," Abbie smiles. 

The minister gazes on them both fondly. "May we begin?"

"Yes," they answer in unison. 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to join this man and this woman, in Holy Matrimony……."

**************  
Future 2045

"Like a comet pulled from orbit--  
like a ship blown from it's mooring---  
by a wind off the see  
stream that meets a boulder, half way, through the wood,  
who can say,  
If I've been, changed, for the better"

"I do," Joshua smiles. 

"I do," Bee smiles back, a small nervous laugh escaping her lips but she's so happy.  
*****************  
July 2017

"I do," Abbie says. 

Abraham's eyes twinkle. "Absolutely. I do,"

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride," 

"Remember we're in public," he teases her as he leans in. 

"I was going to tell you the same thing," 

Lips meet. His hand glides through her hair. It's like a pulse flows through her. Here. Here, is perfect. 

His heart pumps steady strong affirmations of; Right. Home. Love. Yes. Here. Forever. You are hers. She is yours. 

*************  
They hold the reception at The Archives. 

A cavorting mad descent into the hidden caverns below where they are met with applause and hollering from the staff and their other guests. They'd kept the ceremony small. The reception they'd made an open invitation. They take up the grand long table with the ornate chairs, Abbie and Abraham at the head. Their cake is three tiers, each layer a different flavour. Abbie grins knowingly at Abraham as she feeds him a forkful. 

Gertrude sighs happily as she looks on the happy couple enjoying the fruits of her labour. They're positively crazy bunch but she's glad in the confusion that at the very least, these two ended up where they are meant to be. 

They dance and dance. 

Abbie tosses the bouquet. 

Chantal is remarking on how happy she is for the newlyweds to Orion when the crowd suddenly parts. 

"Incoming!" Jenny bellows. 

Chantal glances up, sees the flowers hurtling towards her and catches it, not even thinking about what it means until a cheer goes up around the room. She pales. She turns, glancing at Orion. "Sorry---" she begins before she notices him on one knee. She stares at him, mouth in a small 'O' of surprise and shock. "Orion?" she calls softly. "What are you doing?" 

"What's it look like!" Abbie calls from where she is watching, folded in Abraham's arms. They are both watching the scene expectantly. 

Chantal shakes her head. "Orion this is insane you can't do this at their----"

"It's okay!" Abbie assures with an affirmative nod. "We gave him the all clear."

"You KNEW about this?"  
***********************  
"I do believe I have been changed, for, the better"  
***********************

"Tally?" Orion cuts in at last, reaching for her hand. 

"what?" she snaps, flustered and flushed. She hates spectacles, so many eyes looking at them, but these are all friends. People who she has come to love. They have become her home away from home and it is now, only now that Chantal realizes how many facets of her life have fallen unexpectedly into place. Yet she can't believe Orion Angel is on one knee and his eyes are so warm and adoring she feels hot all over. "What do you want," she continues, her voice fracturing and tears startling to her eyes. 

"You." he replies simply. "I love you, Chantal Adams. will you marry me?"

She shuts her eyes and nods. "Yes, yes yes quick before I wake up." Orion grins, sliding the ring on her finger and then he's on his feet, pulling her in close and kissing her. "You're insane you know that?" she laughs. "Only you would think it's good manners to propose at someone else's wedding," 

"It has the right atmosphere,"

"So I'll guess this will be us this time next year then?"

"Next year? No way, I plan to have you wedded and bedded this winter before you change your mind,"

Chantal shrieks with laughter. "Think I made a mistake saying yes?"

"I'd second guess marrying me. Marry? Orion Angel? Chantal you must have lost your mind," 

"My heart too." she answers. "So you better take care of it,"

His arms tighten around her. "It's my most prized possession."

Across the room Abbie and Abraham slow dance together, watching their newly engaged friends. "She looks really happy. I'm really happy, by the way" Abraham says. 

"Me too. So happy it hurts"  
***********************  
Future 2045

"But, because I knew you"

"I now present you, man and wife, you may kiss the bride."

This is not the group for polite and delicate clapping. No, when Joshua presses his lips to Bee's they erupt in a roar of joy, it jolts the Reverend with the force of it, but the newlyweds carry on like there's no one else but them. 

On this day, a Mills and a Crane got together, after all.  
************************  
July 2017

"Because I knew you," 

At the bar Crane takes in the scene while he drinks. 

"Good turn out," a voice says, a woman suddenly joining him. Abbie had insisted she go over and introduce herself. 

"Because, I knew you."

"Beautiful gathering of people in love. They deserve every bit of happiness they have. All of them." he glances at her and does a double take. He instantly recognizes her face, and the strange charge he'd felt at their first, unconventional meeting.

"I have been changed----"

"Your name?"

The woman tosses her dark hair over her shoulder. "Sophie Foster," she extends her hand. "You?"

"---for, good"

"Ichabod Crane," 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following list includes all of the recorded songs I've actively quoted here. 
> 
> NB. Original songs have not been included in this list. I might get around to recording them, if I do, and if I release them....I'm sure you'll be able to find me. 
> 
> My Heart Tells Me No Playlist
> 
> Stay-Rihanna  
> Work Song-Hozier  
> One Song Glory from Rent-Jonathan Larson  
> Seasons of Love from Rent-Jonathan Larson  
> Someone Like You from Jekyll and Hyde-Robert Louis Stevenson  
> For Good from Wicked -Stephen Schwartz
> 
> Songs not extensively quoted but mentioned
> 
> Somewhere Over the Rainbow  
> Unchained Melody  
> Chains-Nick Jonas  
> Talking Body-Tove Lo  
> My Love-Kes The Band


End file.
